


Prisms of Darkness

by SerpentInRed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 13:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2694008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentInRed/pseuds/SerpentInRed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She will surrender. There are no questions in his mind. It is only a matter of time. And he was never an impatient man. What Lord Voldemort wants, he will get. It will not be any different this time. Hermione Granger will belong to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just thought I'd say here, this story is considerably darker than "Somewhere in Time", if you've read that one. Though I haven't used warnings, consider most of them used.
> 
> This was posted on other sites ... eons ago, but I figured I should add all my works here, too, just in case. ;)

The war was over.

Everything seemed to stand still the moment the Killing Curse was cast from Lord Voldemort's yew wand and hit Harry Potter square on the chest.

The Boy Who Lived, their savior, the only hope for the Muggle and Wizarding world was dead.

A few minutes later, a scream of glee came from Bellatrix Lestrange as the Death Eaters attacked all who had stood up to the Dark Lord. With the victory of Voldemort, the Death Eaters fought even more viciously. As much as the people on the Light side wanted to put up a battle, the death of Harry punctured their spirits as a needle would puncture a balloon.

For some reason, Voldemort had not used the Elder Wand in the last battle against Harry. Later, when Hermione was thrown into a dungeon at the Malfoy Manor, she heard rumors about the Elder Wand being stolen. That, however, was no longer the most important issue.

Despite of her grief for the deaths that had occurred, she knew she had to go on. The brightness in her eyes slightly dimmed as she thought about those who had perished in the final battle.

Harry, Ron, Seamus, Justin, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Tonks were among the ones she had seen die before her. The rest of them were captured and waiting for a verdict to come from Voldemort. Nobody knew what was going to happen to them.

McGonagall was taken from the dungeons a few days ago and had never returned. The rest of them knew better than to think that she was alive although they did hope for it. If at least one of them could get out of the prisons, they might have a chance to rally more people to fight against the Dark Lord.

~-0-~

He had heard many things about her that reminded him of a younger version of himself.

He was curious about her until the first time he had seen her.

 _So naïve, so pure, so awfully good and brave_ , he thought in his head mockingly as he stared at the bushy-haired witch.

He wanted to break her. He wanted to taint her so that she was no longer as white as a piece of paper. He wanted Dumbledore and Potter to die in vain.

His followers had injured her quite badly that day, leaving her with gashes in all parts of her body. Her shirt was almost completely stained red from the blood that was pouring from her wounds. Yet, she still fought on.

When he had her brought in front of her, she looked at him with a look of defiance.

"Miss Granger," he nodded in her direction as a gesture of greeting.

Hermione stood motionless in front of him.

He stood up from his chair and circled around her, looking at her contemplatively. He stopped behind her. "Pardon me. I had forgotten that you were a  _Gryffindor_."

She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

Voldemort knew that she was afraid, but she was not frightened enough. He grabbed her by her waist, forcing her to tumble into his arms with her back towards him.

"And may I remind you that you are a Gryffindor  _in my hands_ ," he whispered to her, his lips nearly touching her earlobe. He smirked when he felt a slight shiver go through her body.

She still did not say anything.

He traced a finger down her cheek, momentarily astonished by how warm she was. Still keeping his lips right next to her ear, he hissed, "Mr. Malfoy informed me of your intelligence, Ms. Granger." He could feel her body stiffen at the mention of her former classmate. "There are so many things I could teach you. Your thirst for knowledge could be quenched. All you have to do is swear your loyalty to me."

~-0-~

He was trying to tempt her. As alluring as the deal seemed to her, Hermione was not going to give in. She already felt guilty for living while others perished. She was not going to let another issue haunt her conscious.

"You are as stubborn as Bella had told me," he snarled as he threw her on to the floor.

Hermione grimaced when she hit the floor, but she was not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream.

"I could kill you as easily as I had killed the others. Don't forget that you are a Mudblood. I'm only allowing you to live because I see the potential inside of you."

"Then kill me," she answered as she turned around and looked at him venomously. To her surprise, a high, cold laugh replied to her instead of the infamous green light.

"Miss Granger," he said softly as he bent down towards her. "You are truly naïve. Why would I kill you when there are many, many more things to be done to you?" He stood up again and waved his wand at her, cleaning her up. "You are to follow beside me from now on."

Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

He looked at her with his crimson eyes. "You shall see the magnificence of the Dark Arts with your own eyes."

~-0-~

For seven years, Hermione had been following beside him. Every time he took her outside, she would look for a way to escape from him. Of course, she never succeeded and was treated with rounds of the Cruciatus Curse. To some extent, the torture made her feel at peace. She felt as if she was repaying the debt she owned Harry and Ron. Other than that, she would be Cruciated when she rejected to the idea of learning the Arts.

She was tempted by the knowledge of the Dark Arts, but she still refused to touch them. She could not, however, deny the fact that watching Lord Voldemort perform them was mesmerizing. Besides the grace and expertise by which he performed the Arts, she could feel the passion behind every single one of his moves. She was almost positive that some of the curses and spells were creations of his own. Although she felt disgusted with herself, she had to admit that he was an admirable wizard.

Day after day, she saw innocent lives being taken and people who had resisted the Dark Lord tortured. At night, when she lied in the chamber that was connected to Lord Voldemort's room, she sometimes wanted to laugh at Voldemort for believing that she would want to learn the Dark Arts if she saw these inhumane acts. Of course, sometimes, he would read intriguing passages from texts about the Dark Arts to her, but she continued to hold up her resistance.

She knew that she had no one else. The last prisoner that was executed was Neville. Hermione had formerly thought that he would have been one of the first ones to die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Nevertheless, the maniacal witch saw it fit to torture the last Longbottom to insanity before ending his life.

Despite knowing what Voldemort stood for, Hermione knew that he was slowly becoming part of her life. It was evident to her when he disappeared for three days straight. Perhaps it was because she knew that he was the only one who cared about her well-being, as ludicrous as that might sound. To some extent, he was even kind to her, compared to how he treated the other prisoners. The Death Eaters around her, on the other hand, were merely indifferent.

And for that reason, she hated them even more than she hated the Dark Lord.

~-0-~

"I shall be leaving for three days," Voldemort announced one day as he sat at the dinner table.

She was allowed food, but while she did not surrender to him, her "seat" was on the floor. Hermione looked at him with a frown.

He was looking at her, his eyes unreadable pits of red.

She wanted to ask him where he was going to or if he was taking her, but it felt wrong for her to do so.

"You will stay in my chambers while I am gone. The house-elf will bring you your meals. You should know better than to try to leave the chambers," he continued.

 _Again?_  That was the first thought that came to Hermione's mind when she heard his announcement. He was leaving her alone in the chambers again?

As if he had read her mind, or maybe he had, he smirked before standing up from his seat and Apparating at the spot.

She continued to stare at the spot he had occupied until one of the house-elves came and questioned her if she would like a bath.

She numbly replied to the house-elf but she could not explain the feeling of loss she felt inside of her. What was wrong with her?

~-0-~

Hearing the gentle click of the doorknob, Hermione jumped up from where she was sleeping and ran into Lord Voldemort's room. To her dismay, it was only the house-elf bringing her lunch. She sank down to the floor.

Where was he? It had already been four days already.

 _Perhaps someone killed him_ , she thought, trying to smile at the idea but was terrified when she found that she could not.

Throughout the whole day, Hermione vaguely knew what was happening around her as she contemplated her feelings and the reasons for them. The next day, those thoughts were thrown to the back of her head when Voldemort still had not returned.

She sat beside the chair he always sat in at the dining table, burying her head in her knees. She was lost and confused. She  _hated_  him. Then why was she feeling so lost when he was not around her?

When she heard the familiar crack beside the chair she was sitting next to, she immediately looked up. He was looking quietly at her with his red eyes.

Hermione knew, without looking at the mirror, that her eyes were sparkling at the sight of him.

~-0-~

The night he took her, she did not resist him. While they were in bed, all she could remember, all she could see, all she could feel was him. As she lied beside him, afterwards, she wondered if she had been placed under the Imperius Curse.

Her face turned a few shades paler when she could not convince herself any longer that she was placed under a spell. She had been willing.

Hermione turned her head and looked at the wizard lying beside her. Voldemort was looking at her with an expressionless face.

She wanted to cry but she could not. The tears did not come even when she willed them to come.

Hermione felt dizzy as the realization hit her.

She had fallen in love with him. Although she hated him, at the same time, she loved him.

He sat up on the bed and ran a finger down her arm. Hermione looked at him but he did not say a word. He got out of bed and robed himself.

"I shall return by nightfall," Voldemort said before he Apparated away. Hermione stared at where he was just standing before again.

_I'm in love with him. I hate him. Yet I'm in love with him._

Hermione almost wanted to laugh out loud at the irony of it.

Instead, she screamed.

~-0-~

He knew that she would stop struggling against him one of these days. However, he still grimaced at the irony of how it would be  _love_  that conquered the stubborn little witch for him.

When he returned to his chambers that night, he was surprised that he did not see Hermione. He called on the house-elf and it informed him that the witch was taking a bath.

He made his way to the bathroom, a smirk lingering at his lips for his ultimate victory over Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived To Annoy.

When he pushed open the door to the bathroom, all things around him seemed to freeze.

A scream of fury erupted from his throat as he threw a spell at the already broken mirror. The shattered pieces fell to the floor, joining the other pieces that were there when the mirror was first broken.

Just like the first time he had seen her at the battlefield, she was still as white as a piece of paper.

All the wounds on her body had healed already except for the new one in her chest.

And all he saw was red.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking at the years after Hermione followed Voldemort from Bellatrix’s point of view. Bellatrix finally understood that her place in the Dark Lord’s heart was moved. She, however, was not going to go down without a fight.

She should had known earlier.

Or perhaps she had known but had not wanted to believe it.

"My Lord, why keep the girl? She is of no use to us any longer," she had asked.

"Bella, if you were Dumbledore or Potter, would you not turn in your grave if one of your best accomplices broke down to your greatest enemy?" her Lord had answered with a vile smirk.

She always believed in what he told her. Therefore, when he said that to her, she believed him. She believed that he merely wanted the pleasure of killing the girl for himself.

Bellatrix Lestrange had been wrong.

She had waited. She'd panicked when she'd heard about the Dark Lord bringing along Mudblood Granger wherever he went. She'd told herself that it was a matter of days before the Dark Lord would become bored from torturing the girl. It was not that hard to break down a filthy little Mudblood. After she broke down, the Dark Lord would kill her. The place at his arms would be rightfully Bellatrix's again within days.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years.

For seven years, the Mudblood followed the Dark Lord while Bellatrix stood at the sidelines, becoming increasingly vindictive. For the first four years, she could still tell herself that there was nothing between the Dark Lord and Granger. The day when the girl appeared at the Quidditch World Cup (something which the Dark Lord had kept despite his disinterest of the sport), Bellatrix finally understood the severity of the situation.

Although Granger still walked around with a look of defiance on her face, there was something else in her eyes.

Bellatrix understood that emotion. It was the same emotion she garnered for her Lord. She felt disgusted when she realized that she shared something with someone with impure blood. However, that feeling was quickly overcome by the threat she was faced with.

The Dark Lord watched the match between Bulgaria and Luxemburg nonchalantly, but she caught the occasional glances he had thrown at Granger.

No. Bellatrix finally found out that her place in the Dark Lord's heart had been moved.

She, nevertheless, was not a witch to go down without a fight.

* * *

She waited. People often said that she was rash but they had forgotten that she had spent fourteen years in Azkaban. She could be patient when she needed to be.

And patience she had.

She had to go through days while watching that filthy little thing stand beside her master, the greatest wizard in the world. It sickened her to see the Dark Lord care about Granger. The girl and even the Dark Lord might be oblivious to that fact, but she saw it. She saw the concern in his eyes when something about Granger happened. It made her want to grab the girl by the hair and throw her against the wall.

Bellatrix, however, held it all in.

Years passed again, but she was no longer worried. She had a plan. The Dark Lord did not give her his trust for no reason. Although she might be insane, as many people claimed, she was intelligent.

The night her master took the girl, she knew that he had some business to attend to at midnight and would not return till the next day. She knew her chance had finally come.

She waited outside his chambers, as much as it tortured her. Each gasp and each moan that came from the filthy Mudblood's mouth was like a sword being plunged into her heart. She felt excruciating pain when she heard the Dark Lord's groans and whispers.

She did not need to deny it. She was a jealous woman and hearing those sounds made her want to inflict the same amount of pain she was going through on the woman on her Lord's bed. She, however, could wait. She had waited for three years since the Quidditch World Cup. She could wait until midnight.

When she heard the familiar crack from inside of the room, her eyes shimmered with glee. Oh yes. She was going to get her revenge.

* * *

She walked into the chambers after Hermione screamed. No tears were running down the Mudblood's face, but she had a traumatized expression on her face. However, that look went away when she noticed that there was another person in the room.

"Bellatrix," she whispered as she pulled the blanket closer to her body.

"Don't you dare mutter my name with your filthy mouth," she hissed as she pulled out her wand. "How dare you share the bed of the Dark Lord?"

"I ... I ..." Hermione stuttered. Apparently, she was more caught up with the fact that she had slept with the Dark Lord than the wand that was in Bellatrix's hand.

"You love him, don't you?" Bellatrix said, tapping the wand on her hand as she kept note of the time. All of the things she had planned must be done at the right time or else she might be caught. Or even worse, Hermione might be saved.

"I ... I ..." the girl continued to stammer.

A maniacal laugh escaped from Bellatrix. "You didn't know? Or did you just find out tonight?"

The girl stared at the wall with a blank look on her face, but Bellatrix knew she was thinking.

She stopped her laughing and a menacing look appeared on her face. "It doesn't matter any longer, Mudblood. It's going to end tonight."

Hermione looked at her alarmed.

"What are you going to do?" she questioned. Delicious fear was written on every feature of her face.

"Do you actually think that I'm going to allow you to stay beside him?" Bellatrix asked ferociously. " _I_  am his most loyal Death Eater.  _I_ am the one who should be by his side. How dare someone as filthy as you have a place by his side and earn his care?"

"His care ..." she repeated softly. Bellatrix laughed again.

"You didn't know?  _You didn't know_? And my dear nephew always complained about your intelligence," Bellatrix jeered as she pointed the wand at Hermione.

"You're going to kill me?" Hermione inquired.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes at the girl on the bed.

* * *

Bellatrix smiled as she stood outside of her master's chambers yet again.

"Bella!" she heard him call her name. She immediately entered the room and knelt down in front of him.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, her eyes glowing with happiness.

He was all hers again.

He remained silent for a while, and Bellatrix daringly glanced at him quickly before lowering her head again.

She bit hard into the inside of her lower lip.

" _You're going to kill me?_ "

_Oh no, filthy little Mudblood. You're going to have many more years of torture for the grief in my Lord's eyes when he believed you to be dead. Many more years._

"Give her a proper burial," he finally commanded. "You know what to do with those who dare to taint her name."

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix answered with hatred burning in her heart.

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he sat down on the bed and looked out the window contemplatively.

* * *

She walked into the bathroom and collected the body. When she Apparated back to her house, Rodolphus looked up at her with an anxious look.

"Bella," he called out.

She looked at him, waiting for him to talk.

He shook his head. "This is not a good idea. If the Dark Lord finds out about this …"

"He will not find out unless you decide to tell him," Bellatrix cut in.

He let out a sound a sound of frustration, but she had already decided to ignore him.

She walked upstairs to her room and threw the body on the floor. A smirk appeared on her face as she remembered that she would have to thank the Crouches for giving her the idea. Although the dementors could not see or hear the prisoners, she knew quite well that Mrs. Crouch had taken Barty Crouch's place at Azkaban.

She sat on the bed as the face of "Hermione Granger" turned into someone else.

" _You're going to kill me?"_

 _"Oh no. I'm not going to kill you," Bellatrix replied as she walked across the room and sat on the armchair her master always sat in. She lovingly touched the part of the armrest where the Dark Lord always placed his hand on. "I'm not going to let you have the easy way out. Not after the torture you've placed me through for the past seven years." She looked back at Hermione. "Not to mention that it would be suspicious if you died by a hex. You don't possess a wand. No. You're going to live but not next to him." She flicked the wand towards the bushy-haired witch. "_ Stupefy _."_

She started to giggle before she stood up from the bed and walked out of the bedroom. She crossed the hallway and opened the door at the end.

She was going to enjoy the next few years much more than the previous ones.

"Hello again, Mudblood."


	3. Chapter 3

The darkness in the room wrapped around her eyes as if she was blindfolded. She felt like a wounded lioness, lying on the ground, wearing pieces of rags on her body.  
  
“Fit for a filthy little Mudblood like you,” Bellatrix Lestrange had spat out the first day Hermione Granger had been thrown into this cage.  
  
The vindictive woman’s words dripped of hatred, her scent of envy. Bellatrix was wrapped completely in the color of the House of Slytherin. She was surrounded by a green world of jealousy and left with nothing but spite and vengefulness.  
  
For a whole month, Hermione had been tortured by one of Lord Voldemort’s favorite Death Eaters. It was a game Bellatrix relentlessly played. As long as Hermione still held on to her sanity, Bellatrix was not going to stop inflicting pain on the bane of her existence.  
  
“He never notices me because of you. You’re nothing but a filthy Mudblood, but all he thinks about is you,” Bellatrix snarled as she kept the Cruciatus Curse on Hermione.  
  
Was he really thinking about her?  
  
A sardonic smile appeared on her face as she looked in the Bellatrix's direction, even though every single cell in her body felt as if it was being ripped apart.  
  
She was the luckier one of the two then. Although Bellatrix was free, the Dark Lord’s thoughts were still not on her.  
  
________________________________________  
  
Sometimes, she wished that Bellatrix would just kill her already. In some of her dreams, when she finally fell asleep, she would dream about the infamous flash of green light and she would wake up with a smile on her face, only to find that she was still alive for another day.  
  
She could feel the impatience from Bellatrix’s words, annoyed by the fact that Hermione was not insane yet.  
  
“It just goes to prove that Mudbloods are like cockroaches. You try to kill them but they just don’t bend.”  
  
Hermione could hear the irritation behind those mocking words. A smile appeared on her lips as she acknowledged that Bellatrix was probably having an even harder time than she was. It was ironic how the one who wanted to torture someone ended up being the one persecuted.  
  
It also surprised her that Bellatrix never bothered to illuminate the room.  
  
_Wouldn’t it give her more satisfaction to see me in pain?_  Hermione had initially thought.  
  
Nevertheless, only darkness surrounded her as her screams ripped through the vacancy of the room.  
________________________________________  
  
Rodolphus Lestrange was never a kind man. It was a fact that was known by everyone. Similar to how humans needed water to survive, Rodolphus needed to inflict pain on others to live. Oh yes. He and Bellatrix were known for their abilities to administer the Cruciatus Curse, second only to Lord Voldemort himself.  
  
That was precisely the reason why Hermione was surprised the first time he appeared in the room, cast a Scouring Charm on her, and healed her wounds. She had no idea why he was expressing motions of kindness towards her when she was, in the eyes of the Death Eaters, worse than filth on the ground.  
  
Nevertheless, she thanked him gently whenever he appeared and he always answered with his usual unreadable expression. He never said anything while he was in the room, although Hermione would have been more than happy to hear someone else talk to her. It had been a while since she had had a proper conversation with someone, since the only tone of voice Bellatrix used on her were screams and snarls.  
  
She tried to ask him questions, but they were never answered. Rodolphus only stared at her quietly as she swallowed the small portions of food he would bring her on his visits.  
  
Despite her frustration, for once in her life, Hermione viewed a Death Eater as a beacon of bright light in a suffocating forest of green.  
  
________________________________________  
  
She no longer counted the number of days. It was impossible to know when it was morning or when it was night unless someone opened the door to her cage.  
  
Sometimes, she found herself screaming into the darkness. Perhaps Bellatrix was getting her wish soon. Just maybe, Hermione Granger was about to go insane.  
  
It was right when she was at the brink of breaking down. It was absurd since she never believed in the sixth sense or fortune-telling rubbish. Nevertheless, she knew. She knew he was coming.  
  
An ominous black aura disrupted the never-ending ocean of green that surrounded her and Bellatrix.  
  
And she knew she was correct when Bellatrix became increasingly frantic. She was not as composed as she usually was as she cast different spells around the room to conceal noises made within it.  
  
“You’re not going back to his side. You’re not going back to him,” she chanted nervously as she continued to put up every single ward she knew.  
  
Hermione approximated where Bellatrix was and watched her, imagining her anxious moves. It might have been funny in other cases but all Hermione felt was sadness towards the Death Eater.  
________________________________________  
  
She knew it was him before the door opened. His presence was too dominating to be missed, even if she couldn't see him.  
  
He walked over to her and picked her up gently before Apparating back to the mansion they were living in before.  
  
He did not ask her what happened while he healed her injuries.  
  
“Bellatrix?” she asked in a hoarse voice.  
  
He looked at her quietly, taking in her features which had taken on a ghostly touch to it due to lack of proper meals.  
  
“She is no longer your concern,” he answered after he scrutinized her for a while.  
  
As he watched her drink the bowl of soup the House-elf had brought to her, Hermione wondered if the sudden scream she just heard was simply her imagination.  
  
Or was she really hearing the cries of Bellatrix Lestrange, who was plunging even deeper into the sea of jealousy?


	4. Chapter 4

Another scream ripped through the air, disturbing the silence, similar to how the rumbling thunder outside interfered with the rhythm of the steadily falling rain.

He was accustomed to screams. Torture was part of his life. Without it, he was like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen, but never receiving it.

For the first time in his life, however, the shrieks did not bring him any pleasure.

"You filthy little Mudblood!" he heard the shrill voice of his wife shriek, followed by another groan of pain.

No, it did not bring him the elation he usually got from hearing the waning breaths of prisoners. In fact, all he felt was angst.

He was scared.

It was perhaps strange to think of Rodolphus Lestrange being afraid. However, no one could possibly blame him. Everyone in the Wizarding World feared the Dark Lord.

He leaned back into the chair and looked out the window. It was difficult to see the rain through the curtains, but he could still hear it spattering loudly against the glass and on the grounds. The heavy cloud cover that blocked out the sun seemed to be untouched by the winds that whistled through the unseen cracks of the house.

Sometimes, he wondered if the clouds were an omen of what was going to happen. It had not stopped raining since his wife captured the prisoner of their master.

His eyes flickered towards the prison on the second floor. It was as if he could see what his wife currently was doing to the cherished Mudblood, the woman that caused whispers amongst those who were loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.

The only thing he could do was watch from the sidelines while his wife did as her heart desired.

And the uneasy feeling never subsided.

* * *

He was surprised when the Dark Lord requested for his presence alone. Usually, when he was called for, his wife would be summoned, too.

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, threatening to run down his face. Yet, he did not dare to move before he was allowed to do so. For almost an hour, he had been kneeling in front of and being scrutinized by the most feared wizard in the world.

Contrary to popular belief, the Dark Lord did not live in a place filled with cobwebs and bats. Rodolphus had heard the most ridiculous rumors while he was traveling around the world, running errands for his master. People seemed to believe that the Dark Lord must live in a place that looked like a cheap Muggle imitation of a haunted house.

He had never seen the whole house before since the Dark Lord would never allow that. However, he had a general idea of what it looked like. The decorations and furniture of the mansion were simple, yet elegant. It was not nearly as cold as the Lestranges' house or as extravagant as Malfoy Manor, but it was certainly more welcoming than both of them.

There was one thing that was similar between the three houses, nevertheless. Each of them contained, within them, dungeons to keep prisoners. Rodolphus knew too well what they looked like. Each cellar was like a second bedroom to him, having spent many moments in them.

The only difference between this time and any other was the fact that _he_ was never the victim.

"Rodolphus."

"Yes, my Lord."

Another moment of silence followed, and the anxiety within him only increased.

Rodolphus wondered how much his master knew, allowing himself to hope for a moment that the Dark Lord had not yet found out about Bellatrix's treachery. Even though both he and his wife had been studying Occlumency, he had never attempted to use it on the Dark Lord. He knew that it would be simply useless.

"How long have you followed me?" the Dark Lord finally asked.

"Ever since I left Hogwarts, my Lord," he murmured.

"How many of my Death Eaters have betrayed me?"

Rodolphus immediately looked at him. The Dark Lord was sitting on an armchair in front of him, but the lighting in the room was too dim for him to see the expressions on his face.

"My Lord – "

"Answer my question, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus quickly analyzed the question in his mind. It was not as easy as it seemed to be. For the nearly twenty years he had been a Death Eater, he had seen only five people betray the Dark Lord. However, he did not know whether he should count his wife's actions as some sort of betrayal.

It was a choice between loyalty to his wife or to his master.

His eyes landed on the yew wand held by abnormally long fingers and he finally made his decision.

"Six, my Lord."

Although he still could not see the expression on the Dark Lord's face, he felt the atmosphere of the room change. At that moment, he realized he had made the right choice. He did not know how his Lord found out about his wife's treachery, but that was insignificant.

The Dark Lord stood up from the armchair, walked up to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"If she dies, I shall be very displeased."

"Yes, master."

* * *

He watched as Granger bit into the small piece of bread he had given her. When he first walked into the dark room, she stared at him in wonder and suspicion. He could feel her doubt increase when he performed a Scouring Charm on her and healed some of the nastier wounds. She was almost unwilling to take the food from him, but her hunger finally overcame her.

Rodolphus had to admit that he was surprised when he walked through the door. Although she had been tortured by Bella for well over two months already, the brightness in her eyes never went away. Therefore, he continued to examine her, using the minimal light from the end of his wand, as she devoured the small ration he had brought her.

When the last traces of bread disappeared, she murmured a soft "Thank you", observing him with curiosity in her eyes.

He lowered his eyes, stood up, and walked out of the room. He cast one last glance at her before he closed the door.

_The Dark Lord would never choose a woman who was weak._

* * *

The fire was too small to light up the living room completely. If possible, it only made the house look even more depressing. The curtains occasionally swayed, blown by drafts entering through unseen cracks of the windows.

He could hear the sounds of the winds howling and rain pelting at the window. Flashes of lighting momentarily lit up the room from time to time.

His wife was becoming frantic. She paced in front of the fireplace, muttering to herself.

Many people said that she was insane—then again, they said that HE was insane, like his wife—but he knew better. She was very intelligent, just not as cunning as the Dark Lord.

"He knows … doesn't he … no … can't … no …"

From the snippets he was hearing, Rodolphus could tell that she was not sure if their master knew of her treachery yet.

He quietly continued to watch her, sitting in the armchair next to the window. A couple of times, he caught her looking at him, as if she was about to ask him something but decided against it.

She knew that she was a valuable warrior, that their master would not dispose of her because of Granger. He could still feel her fear, however—fear that the little Mudblood would return to the Dark Lord's side.

Her heavy-lidded eyes fell on the door of the prison and she headed toward the stairs.

He softly caressed a spot on his left arm with his right hand as he watched her run up the stairs and enter the room holding her prisoner.

When the door slammed shut behind his wife, he pulled up his left sleeve and pressed his wand against his inner forearm.

His eyes never left the door.

* * *

He waited in the study room, not moving an inch from the place where the house-elf had left him. The only light source in the room was the candle on top of the table. The storm finally slowed down, and if he strained his ears enough, he could hear the soft sounds of the drizzle coming in contact with the grounds. His concentration, however, was not on the fickle temper of Mother Nature.

His wife's desperate screams were still ringing in his ears. Momentarily, he allowed his mind to drift off to what had happened earlier.

_Even when she was faced with dementors, the signature smirk of the Slytherins had been imprinted on her face. He recalled how they stood defiantly in front of the whole court at the Ministry of Magic as officials read off what crimes they had committed._

_Yet, tonight was the first time he had seen Bella's face turn as pale as it had when she saw their master appear in their house. It turned a few shades paler when he brushed past them, going straight to where the Mudblood was being kept. Before she could comment or even attempt to stop the Dark Lord, however, she fell to the floor, bound by the Full Body Bind._

_The Dark Lord halted in his stride. An aura of power, mixed with silent anger, filled the room, almost suffocating Rodolphus._

_Without turning around, their master said quietly, "I will overlook it this time, Bella. If this happens again, I will not be so kind. Perhaps it would do you well to remember: Lord Voldemort always knows. Release her after I leave, Rodolphus."_

_"Yes, my Lord."_

_He watched as the Dark Lord made his way up the stairs before his eyes landed on his wife. Her eyes were pleading him to release her, but both of them knew it was a futile request._

When his wife was finally released from the curse, her screams filled the house, filling in every empty corner.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. He immediately dropped down to the floor, recognizing his master's presence even before he saw him.

He vaguely remembered giving the Dark Lord reports about what happened afterwards and receiving directions about what to do hereafter before he returned to his home.

Bella was still sitting on the floor, a look of despair and hatred on her face.

It was at the moment when Rodolphus realized that his master's words were correct again.

The conflict between the lioness and the serpent would never end.


	5. Chapter 5

The hazy glow of the moonlight entered the room through the window. From afar, an owl hooted loudly, almost as if it was complaining about the chirping of the crickets.  
  
He closed his eyes, allowing the soft chorus of the night to wash over him.  
  
The scent of freshly spilled blood, faint enough to be missed by most people, reminded him of her death.  
  
The  _thought_ of her death.  
  
An unprecedented wrath encompassed his senses and he opened his eyes, glaring at the door that led to where she still lay.  
  
Even in her death, she infuriated him more than Potter.  
  
The annoying little Mudblood.  
  
_The shard of glass protruding from her chest …_  
  
“Bella!”  
  
The door behind him opened and he turned around, facing one of his most loyal followers.  
  
_The pools of blood surrounding her still body, accentuating the milky whiteness of her skin …_  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
He remained silent. For a moment, he relished the idea of ripping the Mudblood's body apart with the different curses he knew before the notion that she was gone forever settled into his mind once more.  
  
_Her chocolate-brown eyes were closed, long dark eyelashes brushing against her face, as if she had simply fallen asleep_ …  
  
His eyes briefly locked with the woman kneeling on the floor before she averted her eyes again.  
  
“Give her a proper burial. You know what to do to those who dare to taint her name,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering only once before darkening, as conflicting emotions collided with one another.  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and turned toward the window once more.  
  
A cloud moved in front of the moon, blocking out her light, and the faint figure of an owl flew across the sky.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He stayed in the shadows, watching his followers torture the young man. It was pointless to learn the boy's name. He merely wanted information about the Undesirables.  
  
_“You have no one left. Who are you going to turn to now, Miss Granger?” he asked, a vicious glow illuminating his blood red eyes._  
  
“I’m getting tired of you, boy,” he quietly said, pulling out his wand, standing up from his chair, and moving into the light.  
  
His followers immediately stopped their curses and bowed towards him, waiting for further instructions.  
  
A faint smile touched Lord Voldemort’s lips when he smelled the pitiful fear emitting from the supposedly courageous Gryffindor chained to the wall.  
  
For the past seven years, he had captured, tortured, and killed so many people from the House of the lions that it became clear to him that the opinions of the Sorting Hat were overvalued. When faced with the possibility of death, they quivered just like a normal  _Muggle_.  
  
Hypocrites.  
  
The words they said, the offers they had made in exchange for their lives, and the things they did were precisely what they had shunned before they had fallen into his hands.  
  
And Pettigrew was only one example.  
  
_She stared at him, wordlessly defying him, daring him to kill her. The chocolate brown eyes. Innocent. Too innocent. And too stubborn._  
  
“You will tell me where they are,” Voldemort demanded, his robes swirling around like an ominous cloud as he glided towards the young man, making him look like a demon that had just arrived on Earth from hell.  
  
The prisoner closed his eyes determinedly, as if he was ready for death.  
  
He almost wanted to laugh whenever he saw someone shut their eyes in the face of death. It was an act of cowardice. If they were brave, they would have faced their ends without even blinking.  
  
Once again, he had proven that the so-called values used to Sort students at Hogwarts were a bunch of nonsense.  
  
_He pulled her into his arms. Their gazes locked, anger clashing with defiance, embracing one another like a pair of intimate lovers._  
  
Fear was eating through the  _Gryffindor’s_  courage. He could see it as if it was laying bare right in front of him. Beads of sweat peppered the young man’s face. The chains holding him back made little jingling noises as he trembled.  
  
“ _Crucio_ ,” he cast evenly.  
  
A bloodcurdling scream filled the room, bouncing off the walls and escaping through the windows.  
  
“This is the last time I will ask you, boy. Where are they?” he asked after he released the young man from the spell.  
  
“I … I don’t … I don’t know,” the boy stammered, panting and trembling even more from the aftereffects of the curse.  
  
The boy was telling the truth; after all, being at the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse performed by the Dark Lord himself was not a pleasant experience. The answer, however, displeased him.  
  
_She writhed in his arms, biting into his shoulder to stop herself from screaming as he nonverbally and wandlessly cast the Cruciatus Curse on her. Her eyes, filled with impudence, burned into his, unyielding even in her pain._  
  
It had been a rash decision, allowing her to live purely because of his boredom, and he admitted that he had underestimated the woman. She had turned out to be much more of a problem than he had thought she would be. Somehow, she had managed to outwit the spy that followed her and was gathering up followers.  
  
The insolent Gryffindor!  
  
“Then what  _do_  you know?” he coldly said, his eyes narrowing in annoyance.  
  
He approached the young man, stopping mere centimeters from him and studying his features.  
  
And he had thought the boy couldn’t become any more frightened.  
  
“I … I only get instructions from their messengers. They don’t know me well enough to entrust me with their location,” the boy replied, shaking his head, his eyes wide and sweat dripping down his cheeks.  
  
“They surely would’ve told you about their plans to save Miss Granger, wouldn’t they?” he hissed.  
  
“How did you—”  
  
Secrets will only be secrets if the people who know them are dead. However, it was not his obligation to explain such things to his prisoners, nor did he want to do so.  
  
_“Have you seen how predators hunt?” he asked her quietly, releasing her from the curse. “The harder their prey tries to get away, the faster they pursue it.”_  
  
_Still panting, she replied cheekily, “That only proves that you’re not human.”_  
  
_Instead of being angry, he merely smiled. “No, Miss Granger. I am much more than a normal human. Make no mistake about that. And you will surrender to me one day.”_  
  
He had enough of the hindrance. He needed to know where they were before it was too late. If it was three weeks ago, or even a week ago, he might have been more than happy to play this game of cat and mouse with the witch. Now, however …  
  
He had little time left before his little pet completely broke down.  
  
With a wave of his hand, he released the young man from the chains.  
  
“You will return to them,” he instructed, his red eyes still focused on the boy. “If they do not surrender to me within three days, I will personally search for them myself, and the consequences will be less than desirable for them. Lead him to the door, Lucius.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord,” the blond murmured. He straightened up and pulled the young man towards the door.  
  
“Tell Minerva that it’s useless,” Voldemort spoke up again before they walked out of the dungeons. “The little lioness’s not going back to them.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He was a serpent by nature, one that coiled up in the dark corner, waiting for the perfect moment, the second when his victim was the most vulnerable.  
  
Then, he attacked.  
  
And like all other predators, patience was one of his greatest assets. For seven years, he waited for the little Mudblood to surrender to him; he knew that it was a matter of time before she completely succumbed. All she needed was a little push.  
  
_Her eyes widened at the realization that she had fallen in love with him. For a moment, he almost wanted to sneer at the notion of love. Instead, he continued to watch her silently as she struggled internally with herself._  
  
As much as he was displeased by the fact that Bella went behind his back and kidnapped his prisoner, he saw it as a chance for Granger to experience what a true victim of a Death Eater was like. He wanted her to realize what she would have been going through if he had not been merciful to her.  
  
However, he had not anticipated what happened after Bella imprisoned the Mudblood. Minerva’s “escape” had, of course, been planned. It was obvious that if he had not allowed it, the woman couldn't possibly leave the mansion, which was protected by wards he himself had set up. It was similar to how a cat would play with a mouse before killing it. He was waiting to see what she would do when she had her supposed freedom.  
  
Apparently, however, she was a lot sneakier than he had anticipated her to be. For seven years, Minerva McGonagall led a rather boring life. Using a clever disguise, she would visit Diagon Alley and pick up books every single day. Other than that, she would stay in her little hut just a small distance away from Hogsmeade.  
  
The stories of her simple, everyday life were so tiresome that he began to toy with the notion of paying her a social visit and ending the monotony for her. Those plans were stymied, however, when she disappeared.  
  
Without a trace.  
  
Needless to say, he was enraged by the news and the spy that had been following her never got to see sunrise again.  
  
What angered him even more was the fact that his Death Eaters had not been thorough enough when they were rounding up Dumbledore and Potter's supporters. And now Minerva had become some sort of a ringleader for them.  
  
A month and a half ago, he had received news about a ploy by the reestablished Order of the Phoenix to free his little Mudblood. He had wanted Granger well out of the way when he took care of them, but the “rescue” never occurred and all hints of their activities vanished.  
  
_She suddenly looked towards him, her eyes filled with sadness and confusion. She was lost and she did not know how to find her way out of the labyrinth._  
  
_The Minotaur’s labyrinth._  
  
It was obvious that they were still out there somewhere, plotting. However, he had to finish some unresolved business before he could concentrate on locating them.  
  
His eyes landed on the man who had been kneeling in front of him for the past hour.  
  
“Rodolphus.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
He always chose the members of his inner circle carefully. Rodolphus was an extremely intelligent man, contrary to popular belief. He was perhaps even smarter than Bella, although he preferred to stay in the background. Therefore, Lord Voldemort was hardly surprised when the Death Eater did not even attempt to use Occlumency against him.  
  
“How long have you followed me?”  
  
“Ever since I left Hogwarts, my Lord.”  
  
A faint smile touched his lips before he asked his next question.  
  
“How many of my Death Eaters have betrayed me?”  
  
Rodolphus immediately looked at him.  
  
“My Lord —”  
  
“Answer me, Rodolphus.”  
  
Voldemort had always known that Rodolphus loved Bella. The man cherished the witch more than she had ever acknowledged. Or perhaps because she simply did not care.  
  
_They continued watching one another. She was still in shock._  
  
_Yet surprisingly, there were no traces of regret in her eyes._  
  
Nevertheless, it was time for him to choose where his loyalties lay.  
  
“Six, my Lord,” Rodolphus finally answered.  
  
Apparently, he was even more intelligent than Lord Voldemort had previously believed.  
  
A pleased expression appeared on the Dark Lord’s face as he walked up to Rodolphus and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“If she dies, I shall be very displeased.”  
  
“Yes, master.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She was a lot thinner, he noticed. Her cheeks had lost their plumpness and, although she was never heavy, she felt lighter than a feather in his arms.  
  
“Bellatrix?” she asked while he healed her injuries. When the last wound was healed, he scrutinized her quietly.  
  
An unspoken praise flashed through his eyes when he noticed how the brightness in her eyes was exactly how he remembered it to be.  
  
“She is no longer your concern,” he answered before he summoned one of the house-elves to bring her a bowl of soup.  
  
She quietly drank the soup after his answer, lost in her thoughts.  
  
A sense of possessiveness washed over him as he watched different emotions run over her features.  
  
She was  _his_.  
  
As she turned over to place the bowl on the bedside table, he suddenly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. The bowl fell down to the floor, shattering into pieces.  
  
She first looked at him in surprise before she questioned him without words.  
  
Her brown eyes … just like chocolates, warming a person after a dementor attack. Or even a cup of coffee in a chilly winter morning …  
  
“You’re mine,” he quietly declared.  
  
She gave him no answer, neither agreed with him nor denied his statement, and simply continued gazing into his eyes.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He listened to Rodolphus’s reports about Bella halfheartedly.  
  
Bella was obviously outraged with what had happened tonight. There was no doubt in his mind that she would try something again in the near future, but he simply did not have time to monitor her movements.  
  
He would’ve killed her if she was not such an important member of his inner circle.  
  
“Keep an eye on Bella, Rodolphus,” he ordered, contemplating on what the Order was doing at the moment.  
  
Were they getting ready to “save” Granger? Or were they thinking of plans to assassinate him? Perhaps both.  
  
What he really wanted to know was if his little Mudblood would leave with them.  
  
Lord Voldemort could be arrogant, but he was not stupid. He knew that as much as Granger loved him, her pride and stubbornness would dictate her to leave with the Order.  
  
And he had better things to do than to chase after a witch who did not know what was good for her.  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
“Do not fail me,” he warned.  
  
“Yes, master,” Rodolphus replied, bowing even lower onto the floor.  
  
After dismissing the Death Eater with a wave of his hand, he Apparated back to his room. He stood by the bed, watching the peaceful expression on her face as she slept.  
  
Without waking her up, he climbed into the bed and pulled her into his arms. Brushing her bushy locks away, he looked at her face.  
  
No one took away Lord Voldemort’s possessions.  
  
No one.


	6. Chapter 6

Thunder rolled in the distance, awakening her from her slumber. Alertness, rather than fear, settled in her eyes. She glanced around the room before it registered in her hazy mind where she was.  
  
The concept of sleeping in a bed was peculiar. Nevertheless, the softness and comfort of the blanket and mattress reassured her that she was not dreaming. Seeing the dying fire in the fireplace was stranger still, though the light emitting from it calmed her down significantly. After all, she had spent months sleeping on the floor and listening to the deafening silence of a dark, isolated room.  
  
She could not deny the fact that she hated the Death Eater for kidnapping and torturing her. However, despite that fact, Hermione Granger pitied Bellatrix Lestrange.  
  
She understood how devastating it was to love someone who didn’t love them back. Yet, she could not prevent the small smile from appearing on her face when she thought about  _him_.  _She_  was the one he had chosen;  _she_  was the one lying beside him. The feeling of superiority and elation intoxicated her, making her feel as if she was in the clouds.  
  
That was, until she was fully consumed by guilt and shame. Her hands and feet suddenly felt ice cold and her heartbeat quickened as her emotions dropped from heaven to hell.  
  
It was just …  _wrong_. She was the best friend of Harry Potter, one of the most trusted student of Dumbledore.  _Everyone_ in the Order believed her.  
  
How could she fall in love with  _him_?  
  
Her eyes landed on the arm that was wrapped around her waist.  
  
True, she was not groveling at his feet. However, neither was she fighting so vehemently against his seduction.  
  
It frightened her.  
  
She watched numbly as his long, slender fingers glided across the bed sheets and wrapped themselves around her hand. She found this odd, too. They came from two different worlds, despite their very similar personalities. Yet, here she was, trapped in his arms. It was  _absurd_ , unthinkable.  
  
She turned around until her warm brown eyes met with his cold red ones.  
  
For the first time since she had been captured by him, she felt vulnerable. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind – though he had never used Legilimency on her ever since her return from the Lestrange’s Mansion.  
  
And for the first time, she felt lost.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It happened approximately three months after she was rescued from Bellatrix. The incident really came as a shock. After all, Hermione had never expected to see someone alive from the Light side.  
  
After she returned from her capture, Voldemort had granted her access to his personal library. Needless to say, she had been delighted when she saw just how massive it was. She had heard about his intelligence, but she had underestimated his affection towards books. One would have assumed that he would only have books pertaining to the Dark Arts; Hermione was more than surprised when she found "non-condemning" books amongst his collection. Therefore, one of her newest day-to-day hobbies was scanning his library for a readable volume.  
  
On one particular day, when she heard the sound of the door opening, she had merely thought that it was Voldemort; he was the only one who was allowed into the library. The fact that she had not seen him for nearly three weeks blurred her memories, causing her to forget that he would usually Apparate into the room instead of walking through the doorway.  
  
So she hurried toward the sound, rushing toward him to ask him about the magic of vampires she had so recently read about. She came to a stop when she realized that it was not Voldemort who had entered the room.  
  
The two Gryffindors could not help but stare at one another, both surprised that they had the chance to see each other once again. Thus, none of them noticed it when someone else entered the room and sent a spell towards the young man. Hermione then find herself staring at the Stupefied body of Dean Thomas on the floor.  
  
She raised her eyes until they were leveled with the stormy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, his wand still outstretched in front of him and pointed towards Dean, who was lying on the floor. Other than the trademark arrogance that was possessed by every single Malfoy, there was also a hint of suspicion in his eyes. However, she was hardly stupid enough to ask him why, nor was she in the mood to do so. Instead, her attention was on the presence that had suddenly Apparated into the room, directly behind her.  
  
“He was here to rescue you, Hermione,” Lord Voldemort said, the mockery apparent in his voice.  
  
What also became clear to Hermione were his Lordship's intentions. He would never have allowed someone to enter his property like this. The house was so heavily guarded that it would be impossible for an Order member to enter the mansion, let alone reach the library. The hallways were permeated with Death Eaters and traps.  
  
The only way Dean could’ve traveled all the way up to the third floor was if Voldemort himself had permitted it.  
  
“I believe he went to school with Draco and Hermione, didn’t he, Lucius?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, my Lord.”  
  
“How  _very_  interesting.”  
  
She was stuck. For once, her clever mind could not come up with a viable solution.  
  
“What are you going to do, Hermione?” Lord Voldemort asked, pushing her for an answer.  
  
What should she do? What  _could_  she do? She was defenseless without a wand. It left her with hardly any options at all.  
  
As if he had read her mind, Voldemort snapped his fingers. A house-elf immediately appeared, carrying a pillow high above its head. It stopped right in front of her and she clearly saw what was lying on top of the cushion.  
  
For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating, so she closed her eyes and opened them again, just to make sure that she was not imagining things. It shocked her when she realized that it was real.  
  
_Her wand_.  
  
With a shaking hand, she reached out and picked up the piece of wood. When was the last time she had held it in her hand? She hadn’t truly noticed how much she missed it until it was taken from her. She had thought that Voldemort would’ve just snapped it into two pieces. Yet, it was right there in front of her.  
  
Torrents of emotions ripped through her as she looked at it, her fingers sliding across every inch of it, the familiar smoothness of the wood and the defining curvatures at the handle of the wand.  
  
“Are you going to save him?” Voldemort's voice disrupted her moment of sentiments. One could’ve easily thought, from the tone of his voice, that they were merely having a casual conversation.  
  
She slowly turned around until she was directly facing him. He was leaning against a table, his red eyes trained on her and his face expressionless. His posture was relaxed, as if he was watching something mildly interesting, such as an argument between two random Death Eaters. Nevertheless, she would be a fool if she didn’t know what he wanted from her, but how could she bring herself to betray her friend?  
  
“Are you going to go with him?” he questioned.  
  
He flicked his hand and Dean’s body was picked up from the floor and thrown at her feet. She stared at the young man, someone who she had shared laughter with, someone who went to school with her for six years, lying there,  _defenselessly_  lying there on the ground.  
  
It was a difficult choice.  
  
And she needed to give him an answer.  
  
Suddenly, she whipped around and pointed her wand at Lucius Malfoy.  
  
“ _Stupefy_.”  
  
With a satisfying thud, Lucius crashed to the floor. A smile tugged at her lips and was not fully gone when she finally lowered her wand. A small part of her rejoiced in fact that she still had a part in her that rebelled against the Dark Lord. Yet, another part of her jeered at her, screaming at her for being a coward –  _a traitor_.  
  
She turned around to face Voldemort, half expecting and half wishing for him to hex her on the spot. Instead, he stood there looking at her with what could only be described as interest.  
  
When she was positive that he was not going to punish her for her supposed impertinence, she walked out of the room, leaving two Stupefied bodies on the floor and a thoroughly amused Voldemort.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“I must confess that I am surprised with your actions in the library today,” Voldemort commented as he sat in front of the roaring fire, twirling his wand idly and watching the witch who was sitting on his bed.  
  
Hermione pulled her eyes away from the wand in her hand and looked at him. His lips curved into a smirk as he turned his attention toward the fire.  
  
“I thought you would’ve tried to save him.”  
  
She lowered her eyelid, her eyelashes casting a shadow on her cheek. “You didn’t want to kill him.”  
  
The curiosity in his eyes increased and he walked over to the bed and sat next to her. “Didn’t I?”  
  
She shook her head and played with a loose strand on her robe. “You would’ve rather kept him, get information from him, and hurt those behind him.”  
  
He picked up her chin and forced her to look at him.  
  
“You’ve been told about them?” he hissed, silent anger emanating from him.  
  
“About who?” she asked, tilting her head ever so slightly.  
  
He studied her features, his eyes narrowed. Hermione calmly looked at him, the wheels of her brain turning as she tried to guess who “them” was. She had only been guessing that there were others backing Dean up. However, she was not sure about it until he confirmed it.  
  
Finally, he released her and moved a bit closer to her still.  
  
“Do you know why I no longer use Legilimency on you?” he questioned, instead of answering her question.  
  
The sudden change of topic threw her off course and she merely responded with a shake of her head. He raised his hand again. Only this time, he brought a single finger down her cheek and slid it down to her neck where it lingered, gently caressing the softness and vulnerability there.  
  
He remained silent, waiting for her to answer the question. She gazed at him, searching his features for any signals of what kind of answer he was looking for. However, his expression remained coolly impassive. She furrowed her eyebrows in thought and frustration.  
  
His finger traveled down to her shoulders and onto her arm and at that second, an answer – albeit, in her mind, an absurd one – tickled her mind. Yet, she didn’t want to say it out loud. It was as if there was something to it that concluded things, locking her in, trapping her.  
  
She refused to be locked in.  
  
He was the predator, watching her from a distance, pushing her into a corner and forcing her to stop her struggling. He was the tyrant, taking over territories of her mind, body, soul, and heart, and waiting for her to utter the words of surrender.  
  
And she was nearly suffocated by the pressure.  
  
A knock on the door saved her from answering. She turned her head away, preventing him from seeing the sign of relief in her eyes.  
  
Few minutes later, Voldemort pulled away from her.  
  
“Enter.”  
  
The door opened to reveal Lucius who walked into the room and kneeled on the floor.  
  
“My Lord,” he mumbled.  
  
A condescending look was sent towards Hermione when Voldemort allowed Lucius to stand up. It appeared that he was less than fond to be humiliated in front of his master. Although Hermione knew it was unintelligent to make an enemy out of another Death Eater when she had Bellatrix after her life, she still refused to turn away like a coward. Therefore, she stared coldly back at him, silently challenging him to hex her in front of his Lord.  
  
Neither of them was willing to back down from the struggle. It was combat for the upper hand. Lucius had the name of his family to uphold; Hermione, on the other hand, refused to be looked down on simply because she was a Muggle-born Gryffindor.  
  
“The progress?” Voldemort asked, interfering with their silent battle. If he had noticed the interaction between the two of them, he didn't show it.  
  
Lucius’s attention was drawn back to his master.  
  
“It should be ready by next week,” he answered.  
  
“Next week … ” he repeated softly, his eyes drifting over to the petite witch behind him. Hermione questioned him with her eyes, though he gave her no answer.  
  
“Yes, my Lord. Draco is currently testing it and he gave me his word that it should be done within a week,” Lucius replied.  
  
A mysterious smile appeared on Voldemort’s face, alarming Hermione. Before she could conceive what he was thinking, he had already turned away from her.  
  
“Continue as planned,” he ordered.   
  
Lucius bowed down, indicating that he understood what he had to do.   
  
“Prepare the room for two.”   
  
Lucius’s head snapped up, his eyes filled with surprise.   
  
Voldemort's lipless mouth curved upwards into a faint smile. “Miss Granger will be accompanying me.”  
  
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It was like a leaf dropping into a pond of water. In general, everything seemed to be in peace. Yet, there was an underlying stirring amongst the Death Eaters. She had never seen Bellatrix after she returned to the mansion, but Hermione knew that she was still alive and biding her time.  
  
And she was quite sure that a certain blond would not hesitate in assisting his maniacal sister-in-law.  
  
Therefore, although she still did not know what Voldemort had in store for her – and she was positive that he had some ulterior motive for requesting her to accompany him – Hermione was glad that she had gotten the chance to stay completely away from his followers for two weeks.  
  
Although she knew it was impossible, she momentarily wondered if the wards would crash down on her when she entered the secret house Lucius had prepared for Voldemort. She was slightly disappointed when it did not – if it had happened, it would have definitely earned him a whole session of Crucios and, even better, an Avada administered by Lord Voldemort himself.  
  
“My Lord,” Draco murmured and got on his knees.  
  
Voldemort, with Hermione closely behind him, brushed passed him.  
  
“Is the potion ready?” Voldemort asked, sitting down on the couch. He motioned for Hermione to sit next to him, to which she hesitantly obliged.  
  
Draco stood up, his eyes briefly meeting with those of Hermione’s before he addressed Voldemort, “Yes, my Lord. However, the precautions … ”  
  
Voldemort waved his hand, cutting his words off. “The wards will still be intact after I drink the potion.”  
  
“But my Lord – ”  
  
“I hardly think that any of my Death Eaters who are still alive today will dare betray me.” Red eyes met with stormy grey ones. “Unless you’re suggesting otherwise, Draco.”  
  
“No, my Lord,” Draco immediately replied, lowering his head. “I’m just worried – ”  
  
“Your concerns are  _touching_ ,” Voldemort smirked. “However, Miss Granger will be staying here with me.”  
  
“My Lord – ” Draco halted in his words, his eyes flickering from Hermione and back to the Dark Lord.   
  
Voldemort kept his eyes on him, waiting for him to finish his words.  
  
Hermione knew what Draco was thinking. After all, she had never sworn allegiance to the Dark side, neither was she planning to, and he clearly feared that she might assist others in killing Voldemort. Needless to say, she was quite surprised by Draco’s concern for Voldemort; she had thought that the final battle would’ve somewhat shaken his loyalty toward the master of all evil.  
  
The seconds ticked by and Draco could not bring himself to finish his sentence as he shot hesitant glances at his master and suspicious looks at Hermione.  
  
“Draco,” Voldemort finally spoke up, “I recall that you still have other missions.”  
  
Draco gave an uneasy nod. “Yes, my Lord.”  
  
“Then, you should very well attend to them as soon as you can,” Voldemort instructed, the underlying message obvious.  
  
“Yes, my Lord,” Draco replied. He took one final glance at Hermione and Apparated away from the house with a soft “pop”.  
  
“You’re going to be stuck here with me for two weeks,” Voldemort spoke up, humor laced throughout his words.  
  
She raised her head and looked at him questioningly.   
  
He picked up the goblet on the table to his right and swirled its contents around without explaining anything.   
  
She bit her lower lip, trying to hold questions back. However, she soon succumbed to her curiosity.  
  
“What’s the potion for?”  
  
“It takes out the … less desirable contents in my body,” he said, a sarcastic smile gracing his features.  
  
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, befuddled by his dubious answer. For a minute, she wondered if taking out the "less desirable contents" meant that his magical powers would be increased. However, that was probably the least of her concerns at the moment.  
  
“Then … why do I need to be here with you?” she asked.  
  
He looked at her for a while before he answered, “Would you rather be back at the mansion?” He drew out his wand and nonverbally cast an unknown spell on the potion inside the goblet.  
  
“I was just curious,” she replied, averting her gaze.  
  
“Hm … I assume I could’ve asked Bella to accompany me instead …”   
  
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at his words, but it was enough to induce a smirk onto his face.   
  
“… but her incessant praises and outward staring could be quite tiresome. I might be forced to kill one of my best Death Eaters before the end of two weeks.”  
  
She snorted; he must be insane if he thought she, a Gryffindor and the best friend of his former nemesis, would fare any better.  
  
“Perhaps I am insane,” he said softly as if he had read her mind.   
  
She glanced at him again and saw the self-mocking look on his features as he raised the goblet to his lips.   
  
He watched her over the rim of the cup. “Just how much should I trust you, Hermione Granger?”  
  
She stared at him.  
  
Without waiting for an answer from her, he drank the potion.


	7. Chapter 7

Patience had never been and would never be one of her greatest attributes. Thus, Hermione Granger could not deny that she was thoroughly disgruntled when a certain self-proclaimed Lord decided to keep her in the dark.  
  
None of them knew the answer to his question and, to be honest, it was ridiculous, really, for him to voice it out loud. Who would actually expect Lord Voldemort, pureblood supporter extraordinaire, leader of Death Eaters, and Heir of Slytherin to trust a Muggle-born, Gryffindor witch?  
  
Nevertheless, after he drank the potion, she momentarily wondered if he really trusted her as much he wanted her to believe. There was just something, either in the atmosphere around them or his posture, that led her to believe that he was still hiding something from her.  
  
After he downed the potion, he leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Hermione nearly thought that he had fallen asleep and almost screamed out of horror and fear when she saw drops of liquid trickle down the side of his head. At a closer look, she realized that it was not blood, or at least, not human blood.  
  
The substance latched onto a faraway memory, an event that occurred way before she had been captured by the man who was sitting next to her. Nonetheless, the memory stood out in her mind as if it was yesterday, the curious night when she had detention with Harry, Neville, and Draco, the night when pools of liquid with the same color blotted the ground of the Forbidden Forest. Suddenly, Hermione knew what one of the “less desirable contents” in his body was.  
  
It continued to run down his head, resembling rivers rushing to the ocean and staining his originally black robes silver.  
  
Hermione had no idea what to do – he had not given her any instructions. In fact, she still did not know why she was even there. Therefore, she did the most logical thing she could think of at the moment. She Summoned a towel from the nearest bathroom and gently wiped the silver fluid away. He neither said anything nor pushed her away, so she could only assume that what she was doing was alright.  
  
For nearly twenty minutes, the liquid continued seeping out of his skin, and Hermione had had to Scourgify the towel three times already. However, the process showed no signs of ceasing. Approximately thirty minutes after he had drank the potion, the fluid suddenly changed into an inky black color.  
  
It might’ve been hilarious to see Lord Voldemort the way he appeared right now, but Hermione was far too concerned with his well-being to take notice that he looked very much like a person who had been hit over the head with a full bottle of ink.  
  
After an hour, it finally stopped and he opened his eyes. For the first time since Hermione had seen him, she saw signs of fatigue on his face.  
  
“Are you alright?” she asked softly, casting a Scourgify over his body to clean up the rest of the residue.  
  
He gave her a light nod.  
  
“Perhaps you should rest a bit,” she suggested, standing up from the couch.  
  
He shook his head. “Transfigure the couch.”  
  
She stood there, the command resonating in her mind and alerting her that something was very wrong. However, she could not quite place a finger on it. Without asking a question she knew he would not answer, she did as she was told.  
  
When the couch was finally Transfigured into a bed, he pushed himself back into the pillows. He opened his eyes, wordlessly giving her his command. With a sigh, she climbed into the bed and lay down next to him.  
  
“Was that unicorn blood?” she asked softly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She bit her lower lip. “So … it’s one of the less desirable contents?”  
  
“Indeed, it is.”  
  
She sat up on the bed and looked at him. “What does it do?”  
  
“Unicorn blood does have the wonderful ability of keeping one alive,” he said, shifting his body a bit to a more comfortable position, “but one of its ridiculous side effects is that it considerably decreases the speed of certain spells.”  
  
“Such as?” she raised her eyebrows.  
  
“Let’s just say, some spells that I find extremely useful,” he closed his eyes, the self-satisfied smile not quite fading away just yet.  
  
She rolled her eyes, knowing that he obviously meant the darker spells.  
  
“You’ve said that it’s only one of the side effects.”  
  
He lazily opened his eyes again, a faint but wicked smile on his face. “The best way to learn things, Hermione, is by going through the process.”  
  
“I prefer my drinks to be less exotic, thank you very much,” she answered. He smirked at her words.  
  
“I’ve never prohibited you in reading the other texts in my library.”  
  
“No thanks,” she huffed, lying back down and causing him to laugh. Realizing that he seemed to be in a chattier mood, she decided to ask him her previous question again. “Why did you need someone to accompany you?”  
  
Silence ensued and she tilted her head to glance at him. He studied her features, but did not say anything.  
  
“It’s going to be an early day tomorrow,” he finally spoke, signifying the end of their conversation.  
  
Another sigh escaped her lips after he closed his eyes. She hated herself for wanting him to trust her. She hated herself for wanting some kind of …  _progress_. She hated herself even more when things did not work out the way she wanted it to.  
  
With a soft “ _Nox_ ”, she wiped out the last trace of warmth in the room and submitted herself to the cavern of repentance and fear.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She thought she was imagining things, but honestly, her case of hallucination would have made the headlines of the  _Daily Prophet_  if she was imagining the Dark Lord with  _hair_. If she hadn’t known that there were wards around the house to prevent others from entering, she would’ve thought that she had accidentally walked into the room of a stranger.  
  
Not only did he have hair on his head, but his facial features had become less serpentine and more human-like.  
  
Therefore, no one could blame her for gawking at him in the morning. Of course, this deeply amused the man in question who had conveniently “forgotten” to inform her about the possible changes.  
  
It appeared that he had to drink the potion every single day, thus answering her question of why they had to stay in the house for fourteen days. After the first two days, she was kind of getting accustomed to watching him bleed the unicorn blood and the other dark potions from his body – the key word being “kind of”. She wondered why she found it surprising that he had used so many dark potions. He was ridiculously afraid of dying anyway, a concept she still secretly snorted about.  
  
The strangeness of her situation impacted her the most four days later when she awoke and found herself staring at a face that certainly should not belong to someone who was the epitome of all evil.  
  
“I suppose Draco did mention about a certain witch fancying Gilderoy Lockhart,” he commented thoughtfully as he swung out of bed.  
  
She promptly pretended that she had not heard his words, though the red tint on her cheeks gave away her thoughts.  
  
She was about to believe that Lord Voldemort had simply brought her to the secret house in order to see her reaction towards his newly-founded handsome face when she sensed a change in the wards around the house on the thirteenth day since their arrival.  
  
They were sitting next to the fireplace, sitting in their respective armchairs and reading when it happened. What surprised her was the fact that Voldemort seemed to be completely oblivious to the flicker of magic in the air. She immediately pulled out her wand, causing him to look up from the tome he was scanning.  
  
“The wards,” she explained, a frown finding its place on her forehead, “it shifted.”  
  
A sliver of panic sliced through her heart when she realized that he had not noticed the change.  
  
_He had not noticed the change._  
  
Any wizard or witch, especially one with the magical competence of Voldemort, would’ve noticed it the second wards were modified.  
  
She did not know how it had happened, but for some strange reason, it seemed that Voldemort’s magical abilities had greatly decreased.  
  
Before she could ask him about it, the sounds of Apparition filled the room and they were surrounded by seven witches and wizards.  
  
“Drop your wand,” a tall witch barked.  
  
“Hermione, get away from him,” Dean Thomas called out, reaching his hand out to her.  
  
She stared at him before she swirled around and looked at Voldemort. He was quietly gazing at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She turned around again and took one step backwards toward Voldemort.  
  
“How did you escape?” she asked Dean, her grip around her wand tightening.  
  
“The Order attacked the mansion a few days ago. The Death Eaters can’t really hold up a fight without  _him_ ,” he nodded his head towards Voldemort without looking at him, “around.” A gleeful smile appeared on the young man’s face. “Not to mention the fact that even if he was around, he probably couldn’t do anything.”  
  
“Couldn’t do … what do you mean?” Hermione asked.  
  
“He – ”  
  
“Which of them was it?” Voldemort suddenly spoke, interrupting Dean.  
  
A short, blond wizard took a step forward, a sneer on his face. “Did you honestly  _think_  that the Malfoys would be loyal to you after what happened during the final battle? You’ve threatened their lives as well as their son’s.”  
  
A sarcastic smile appeared on Voldemort’s face. “I suppose I’ve overestimated their loyalty.”  
  
“Which shall lead you to your death,” a tall, brown-haired wizard snarled, stepping forward as well. “We know what happened already. Taken the potion, haven’t you? It’s a pity that in order for it to work, you’d be completely powerless for two weeks.”  
  
The other wizards snickered at his words. Hermione, on the other hand, whirled around again, staring at Voldemort in shock.  
  
“You lose your magic for two weeks? And you didn’t even tell me?” she whispered.  
  
“It was insignificant.”  
  
She growled deep in her throat. She really wanted to throttle him on the spot. If he had warned her about it, she could’ve at least taken some precautions –  
  
“Hermione, you don’t have to worry. He can’t do anything to you now. We’ll take you back to the headquarters of the Order. Professor McGonagall’s waiting for you,” Dean smiled encouragingly at her.  
  
She momentarily froze, the news that McGonagall was not dead yet shocking her, and then something stirred in her heart, the Gryffindor part of it.  
  
McGonagall, the professor who had taught her so much and had thought so highly of her …  
  
Memories from Hogwarts flashed in front of her eyes as if it had just happened yesterday. She recalled the moment when McGonagall handed the Time Turner to her, telling her the cautions and directions. She almost smiled when she thought about the time when Umbridge was driven out of Hogwarts.  
  
She would be lying if she said that she did not miss her former Transfiguration professor. However …  
  
She kept her eyes on Voldemort, his now dark eyes impassive even when his life was being threatened.  
  
“You are an idiot,” she hissed, before she turned around and ignoring Voldemort's amused expression – she'd never had doubts about his insanity anyway.  
  
A couple of the Order members were looking at her suspiciously now and Dean was sporting a thoroughly confused expression, but she couldn’t care less about it.  
  
“Hermione … ” Dean started to say.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, shaking her head from side to side.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked, taking a step forward.  
  
Hermione backed up until she was directly in front of Voldemort. “I … I can’t go with you.”  
  
“No,” Dean shook his head, too, “no … Hermione, you don’t know what you’re saying … ”  
  
“I – ”  
  
“Are you out of your mind? Hermione, he’s You-Know-Who!” Dean shouted.  
  
“It’s useless speaking with someone who’ve gone over to the Dark side, Thomas.  _Expelliarmus_!” the brown-haired wizard cast toward Hermione.  
  
“ _Protego_!” she immediately cast, the panic rising in her chest. How could she protect him against seven different wizards and witches? If they attacked her at the same time, it was impossible for her to block all of their spells.  
  
“You can still make your choice, Hermione,” Voldemort quietly said behind her.  
  
“I’ve already made my choice,” she said through gritted teeth. A couple of spells were sent towards the man behind her again, causing her to curse under her breath as she quickly searched through her mind for a way to protect Voldemort without harming the other witches and wizards in the room.  
  
_Nothing_  was coming up in her mind and she did not like that at all. She was supposed to be most brilliant witch of her age. There  _had_  to be something in that intelligent brain of hers that could get them out of this sticky situation.  
  
All of a sudden, her charge snaked his arm around her waist and turned her around.  
  
“What are you – ”  
  
Her screech was halted when he pressed his lips against hers. The unrestrained passion in the kiss shocked her, though it hardly took her attention away from the danger they were in.  
  
“You really are an idiot,” she all but screamed at him as she pulled away.  
  
The smirk that she had already gotten used to graced his features, but there was something else in his eyes when they landed on the other wizards and witches in the room. A mad glint of predatory fervor glittered at the depths of his eyes, one that foretold the destruction that was about to happen.  
  
It made her blood run cold, though she wondered why – he was defenseless, after all. Yet, there was still something in him that demanded respect and complete obedience, which was why she hardly struggled against him when he placed his hand on her shoulder and silently commanded her to sit back down.  
  
Her eyes landed on the trespassers and if it wasn’t for the situation they were in at the moment, Hermione would’ve probably giggled at the comical looks of disgust on their faces. She assumed that it was because they had just witnessed the darkest wizard in history snogging her while they were supposedly trying to kill him. The eyes of most of them were bugging out and she could’ve sworn that Dean’s jaw almost touched the floor.  
  
When they finally recomposed themselves, however, Hermione was already sitting back down and Lord Voldemort himself had a smile on his face, a polite smile that was commonly seen on hosts welcoming guests to his house.  
  
An involuntary shudder was shared amongst the unwelcomed “guests”.  
  
“Minnie should’ve known what was good for her,” Voldemort said softly. His eyes landed on a medium-sized young man. The refined smile curved itself into a sneer as another animalistic spark passed through his eyes. “Apparently, one lesson was not enough for you.”  
  
The young man’s face turned to chalk-white as he took a few steps back.  
  
“You … you can’t scare us,” the brown-haired wizard said, attempting to sound brave but failing miserably. He raised his wand. Realizing that he was going to do, Hermione attempted to stand up but was hindered by Voldemort. “ _Stupefy_!”  
  
Before she had the chance to even scream, however, Voldemort had already extended his hand with his palm facing away from him. The spell sent toward him bounced off the shield he had nonverbally cast, leaving Hermione as well as the intruders in astonishment.  
  
Lord Voldemort suddenly laughed, a high, cold laughter that greatly contrasted with his charming looks.  
  
“This – what – what happened?” a short, blonde witch asked frantically.  
  
Hermione watched in disbelief and horror as Voldemort slowly drew out his wand, savage mirth dancing merrily in his dark eyes. Something clicked into place in her mind, some sort of revelation, one that she didn’t want to believe and one that none of the intruders were aware of.  
  
Two of the wizards turned on their spots; they were obviously trying to Apparate, but to no avail.  
  
“The anti-Apparition wards are up!” one of them shouted, panic apparent in his stance and voice.  
  
The fear spread like an epidemic; another witch tried to Apparate but was met with the same outcome. In contrast to their terror, Voldemort calmly leaned against the armchair Hermione was sitting in, his wand dangling lazily from his hand.  
  
“Are we finished?” he asked mockingly.  
  
“It’s impossible. You’ve taken the potion. You _have_  to take the potion to get rid of the remnants of the dark potions you’ve used …” the tall witch whispered.  
  
“ _Expelliarmus_!” the blonde witch cast at him.  
  
With a flick of his wand, the spell was deflected.  
  
“You … you’re not supposed to get your magical abilities back until tomorrow,” the brown-haired wizard said hoarsely. “Unless you haven’t … ”  
  
“Most of the time, realizations come too late, don’t they?” Voldemort asked.  
  
“Lucius Malfoy, he – ” the tall witch said, her eyes widening.  
  
“That two-faced, betraying rat!” the brown-haired wizard roared. He then proceeded to throw hexes at Voldermort, which were all casually deflected.  
  
“Slytherin would be more like it,” Voldemort corrected conversationally. “I’m greatly surprised that you would believe what Lucius said when it’s pretty obvious,” his eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to nearly a whisper, “which side is the winning side.”  
  
With another flick of his wand, the brown-haired man flew out and rammed his head into the wall behind him. A sickening crack resounded throughout the room and Hermione involuntarily winced.  
  
“Churchill!” the blonde witch cried out, running over to the wizard as the others covered her.  
  
“The entertainment value is waning. Don’t you think so, my dear?” Voldemort asked Hermione softly.  
  
She did not answer. Her eyes were on Dean’s, which were rapidly filling up with anger and hatred that pierced through her heart.  
  
“Surrender and I might allow you to live,” Lord Voldemort coldly said, his eyes merciless while his lips spoke words of mercy.  
  
The Order members stood defiantly against him, shielding the wounded Churchill. The only words that came out of their mouths were hexes and curses, attempting to take him down. Throughout the whole time, Dean never looked away from Hermione, disbelief and pain still lurking at the depths of his eyes.  
  
And then Hermione felt it. The wards shifted again, but this time, she was sure that it would not work to the Order members’ advantage. In the midst of them trying to hex Lord Voldemort, they had not noticed the change of magic in the air.  
  
She silently mouthed “Run” to Dean who furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a second. At that second, people started to Apparate into the room and Dean understood. He immediately grabbed the two people nearest to him, turned on the spot, and disappeared.  
  
Before the other four Order members could comprehend what was happening, the wards were back up again. They were panting by now, magically exhausted and surrounded by eight newly-arrived Death Eaters. Within seconds, their wands were magicked away from them.  
  
Suddenly, Hermione’s armchair was turned around and she was staring into the handsome face of Lord Voldemort. Fury was etched on his face as he stared at the petite witch in front of him.  
  
He knew what she had done.  
  
He had wanted to capture all seven of the Order members in order to have something over McGonagall’s head. Thus, he had refrained from cursing all of them on the spot. He was waiting for his Death Eaters to arrive.  
  
And it had all been ruined by a certain bushy-haired, Muggle-born witch.  
  
“Lucius,” he said softly, without taking his eyes off her. One of the Death Eaters stepped forward. “Take them to the dungeons.”  
  
“Yes, my Lord,” the masked blond murmured.  
  
One by one, the Death Eaters left the house until only one was left, the only one without a mask to prevent others from recognizing her.  
  
Voldemort turned his head slightly and looked at the Death Eater from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Yes, Bella?”  
  
“ ... Nothing, my Lord,” and with that, she left the house.  
  
Voldemort looked back at the Gryffindor, the flames of anger in his eyes contrasting sharply with the coldness in his features.  
  
The silence that remained in the room almost made Hermione wish that Bellatrix Lestrange was back in the room. However, fate was not so kind to her and the only other person in the room was a dark wizard who was currently infuriated with her.  
  
“And to think that you’ve finally succumbed to me,” he began, sarcasm dripping from his words. “I suppose that attempting to save me and attempting to save those Order members  _are_  two different issues."  He let out a humorless laugh.  "Did you think that they would welcome you back with open arms just because you’ve saved them?”  
  
She did not answer him, knowing that it would be useless to defend herself for her actions.  
  
“No answers from the infamous Gryffindor know-it-all?” he mocked, anger seeping into his voice. “How Severus and Draco  _frequently_  complained to me that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”  
  
She bit her lower lip and attempted to block away memories of how they had enjoyed intellectual debates with one another after her return from the Lestranges’ mansion. She could hardly blame him for trying to verbally attack her. After all, she had managed to half foil his plan.  
  
He suddenly grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him while she attempted to hold back a yelp from the pain that was imposed on her.  
  
“You’re stuck with me forever, Granger. Get that into your head and  _stop thinking that they would want you back_. You are nothing but a traitor to them,” he hissed. He then swooped down and captured her lips with his, allowing his rage to wash down on her through the kiss, overwhelming and drowning her.  
  
Perhaps he was right. Even if McGonagall believed in her, even if ten people believed in her, there would always be a portion of people who had second thoughts about her.  
  
And as his hand cupped her cheek in a gentleness that contradicted with the severity of his kiss, she found that perhaps, just perhaps, she didn't mind all that much.  
  
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	8. Chapter 8

His blond eyebrows knitted together into a frown as he stared at the handsome lad sitting in the front of the room.  
  
As was custom, most of the Death Eaters hid behind their masks and remained silent. However, tension hung in the air, less easily disguised than facial expressions. Many of them, it appeared, shared his feelings. He was very much infuriated by the boy's blatant display of indifference and condescension, but on the other hand, he was befuddled. That was the main reason why he had refrained from hexing the stranger on the spot.  
  
It was ridiculous, really. If he had been expecting something, it was anything but this.  
  
Two and a half weeks ago, the Dark Lord had informed them that he was traveling to China since the Ministry of Magic there had been hesitant in their decision about forming an alliance. It had been three days since the Dark Lord's alleged return date, but Lucius was hardly worried. Despite the nervous whispers of certain individuals, he highly doubted that the Chinese Ministry of Magic could have detained their master. He'd never questioned the ability of the Dark Lord, and he wasn't about to begin to do so.  
  
To anyone else, throwing his lot in with the Dark Lord might have seemed like a gamble. To Lucius Malfoy, however, it had simply been an investment. True, it meant that he had had to subject himself to another's will, but it was a relationship that was ultimately beneficial. He could care less about the innumerable Galleons that came with the Malfoy name; the Dark Lord could have as much of it as he wanted. They were only useful to him for the power they could buy. He had been sure the Dark Lord would succeed, and then he, Lucius, would have gotten what he truly craved: more power.  
  
The Dark Lord's trip had, more or less, worked in his favor. Bellatrix was the first to have brought it to his attention. The idea that the Dark Lord fancied the Mudblood was as disturbing as it was alarming. Although he relaid the rumor back to his wife as if it was some kind of sick joke, he knew that he must take precautions. Allowing Granger the possibility of attaining a position higher in authority than the Malfoys would, undoubtedly, put him and his family in danger.  
  
His lips curled into a smirk as he thought about the steps he had arranged within the past few days. Nobody would ever trace it back to him.  
  
Masking his feelings behind a blank expression, his eyes flickered around the room, trying to pick up clues that would help him figure out the identity of the lad at the front of the room.  
  
He was thoroughly surprised when he noticed Dolohov amongst the Death Eaters kneeling. Very suspicious, indeed. The haughty man was one of the first to have joined the Dark Lord's ranks. Therefore, either the Dark Lord had already made an appearance before Lucius arrived or the young man was a person of high importance. Otherwise, it would be virtually impossible to subdue Antonin Dolohov.  
  
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly when they landed on his sister-in-law. The intensity with which she was gazing at the young man sitting so haughtily at the front of the room was telling in itself. The glee on her face and her slightly shaking hands were merely confirmations to his theory. If he had been anyone else, some random, common, unworthy wizard, his mask of calmness would've shattered and surprise would have marked its presence on his features.  
  
His attention was caught by the wand dangling from the young man's right hand and a shiver ran down his spine. The wand was all too familiar to him, after spending hours suffering under the Cruciatus Curse administered by it. The dark eyes of the wand's owner were glinting with too much amusement amidst all the tension, alerting him of the danger he might be facing.  
  
Without a second thought, he fell to his knees. Beside him, Draco quickly imitated his actions.  
  
"My Lord," Lucius murmured.  
  
A couple of the other people followed suit, knowing that Lucius Malfoy must have seen something they had not. The others, however, were thoroughly confused by his words and mutters of suspicion erupted throughout the room.  
  
"My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, taking a few steps forward so that she could be closer to the Dark Lord, "you have returned."  
  
The faint smirk that appeared on the young man's face confirmed Lucius's thoughts and Bellatrix's words, causing a couple more people to drop down to their knees. The remaining people who were standing stared at one another, an atmosphere of unease in the air.  
  
"I suppose I should forgive your confusion," the young man spoke, his voice, though soft, clearly reaching each person's ears. "After all, not many of you have seen Lord Voldemort before ... certain transformations."  
  
Lucius narrowed his eyes at Rodolphus Lestrange, kneeling a short distance away from him. He doubted that Rodolphus knew what their Master had looked like before his "transformations". Yet, he was one of the first ones kneeling down. How did Rodolphus know, beforehand, who the young man was?  
  
A sarcastic smile graced the Dark Lord's features when no one moved.  
  
"Or perhaps," he mused, "you need a bit more incentive to recognize your Lord."  
  
With a casual flick of his wand, the people who were standing fell to the floor, howling in agony.  
  
The Dark Lord watched them coldly, all signs of nonchalance gone from his face. It was clear, to Lucius and some of the others who dared to peek at the scene that was playing out in front of them, that their Master was using this as a chance to warn them: by no means had the physical changes affected his competence in magic. Any wrong moves or thoughts on their parts would bring about painful consequences.  
  
"Do you still doubt who I am?" he asked, releasing them from his curse.  
  
They slowly crawled up to the Dark Lord, panting, and kissed the hems of his robe.  
  
"Forgive us, Master," they murmured.  
  
Cruel, dark eyes roved over them and pale, long fingers tapped absent-mindedly on the arm of the chair.  
  
"The Chinese Ministry of Magic, unfortunately, has not accepted my proposal—yet," the Dark Lord spoke. Apparently, the penance of those who had doubted him mattered little to him. "Rabastan is still negotiating with them and will not be attending the meetings for the time being."  
  
They remained quiet, waiting for either further information or instructions. The only sounds were made by those still hoping for their master's forgiveness.  
  
"Silence," the Dark Lord coldly commanded, "unless you wish to incur the wrath of Lord Voldemort."  
  
Almost immediately, the room became silent.  
  
The Dark Lord propped up his face with his hand, his eyes narrowed in thought.  
  
"Vaginov, the head of the Russian Auror Department, promised to stay out of our way as long as we do not attack the country," he continued to say, amusement once again apparent in his eyes, "something which I plan on doing anyway."  
  
For the time being, Lucius added in his mind.  
  
"He requests that I send someone to persuade the Russian Prime Minister," the Dark Lord continued, his eyes sliding over to Dolohov.  
  
Dolohov nodded his head, acknowledging what was requested of him. "Yes, my Lord." And with a soft pop, he Disapparated away.  
  
One by one, each of the Death Eaters left the room after they were given their assignments, until only Draco and Lucius were left.  
  
"I've heard that your Potions skills are rather impressive, Draco," the Dark Lord commented.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Draco replied, his head bowed low.  
  
"Second only to Miss Granger."  
  
Lucius frowned slightly, worried that Draco might answer the question wrongly or let his anger work its way into his manners.  
  
A moment of silence followed, before Draco answered in a strained voice, "Yes, my Lord."  
  
Lucius relaxed upon hearing his answer, knowing that the boy was far from losing his temper.  
  
"I need a potion concocted within two weeks," the Dark Lord said, leaning back on his chair and twirling his wand idly while he looked out the window.  
  
Lucius took this chance to examine the "new" Dark Lord. A shiver involuntarily ran down his spine. He wondered how he missed the subtle yet powerful waves of dark magic pulsing from the man sitting in front of him. It seemed as though the Dark Lord was currently enjoying the idea of pretending to be harmless. Lucius pitied those who dared to underestimate this "charming" young man.  
  
The pale, long-fingered hands had lost their spidery look, another change that had transpired during the Dark Lord's absence. Dark waves of hair framed a face with what would have been angelic features, if only there had not been a sneer contorting them.  
  
Lucius quickly looked down when the Dark Lord glanced back at them. A ring was levitated and dropped in front of Draco.  
  
"The Portkey will take you to the location," the Dark Lord said. "The instructions are on the table, next to cauldron." His dark eyes drifted over to Lucius and faint amusement saturated his next words. "You may go with him if you're ... concerned for his safety, Lucius."  
  
"My Lord," Lucius said, "my family and I live to serve you. I'm hardly worried about Draco's safety. However, I would be most grateful if my Lord would allow me to satisfy my curiosity ...."  
  
A sarcastic smile appeared on the Dark Lord's face as he sent a demeaning look towards Lucius, a sign of how much he actually believed him.  
  
"You may visit him when you please, Lucius," he replied, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes thoughtful. "I have something else for you to do, however, so you are expected to return here within a week."  
  
Lucius permitted an expression of mild interest to appear on his face. However, it seemed that he was not going to get an answer, since the Dark Lord returned to giving specific instructions to Draco before they were allowed to take the Portkey.  
  
They exchanged a glance with one another when they reached their destination. The house, or at least, the living room of the house was not overly luxurious, but it was quite cozy and comfortable. The fire was dancing merrily in the brick fireplace, flanked by two armchairs. The wall behind the armchairs were lined with shelves of books. A single side table sat beside each chair, supposedly for the occupant to put their books or drinks. The hard-wood flooring was covered with a soft, Persian rug and the windows were half covered by dark green curtains.  
  
"What is this? A summer hideaway?" Draco commented as he peered through the window.  
  
A snowstorm was building in strength outside the house, although there were no traces of it inside. Apparently, a Silencing Charm had been placed around the house to block out the sounds. The winds were so strong that the trees seemed like they were about to have their roots upturned. The roads were long covered by the white blanket.  
  
"Draco, take care of your words," Lucius reminded him, quite aware of the fact that his son would forget his place whenever they were not in the presence of the Dark Lord.  
  
Draco nodded offhandedly, strolling around the house as if it was some kind of museum.  
  
"Draco," Lucius called out, a frown settling on his forehead again.   
  
Draco gazed away from the glass menagerie inside a display cabinet.   
  
Lucius heaved a sigh and approached his son. In a lower voice, he warned, "I know I've been telling you this for years. However, this is the first time the Dark Lord requested for you to prepare a potion for him. Do not allow yourself to be careless."  
  
The boy had to understand that even if the Dark Lord was not near them, it did not mean that they were not under surveillance.  
  
"I understand, Father," he replied quietly.  
  
Lucius nodded, glad that his son understood what he meant, and looked out of the window. Snowflakes pelted soundlessly against the window, as if they were looking for a way to enter the house. Each second passing strengthened his determination. He would not allow his family to be condemned again.  
  
Even if it meant his life.  
________________________________________  
  
Three days later, Lucius returned to the Dark Lord's mansion as he had been instructed to do. A slight frown creased his forehead as he followed a house-elf to the study. Strangely enough, there weren't any Death Eaters patrolling the hallways. What was even odder was the fact that the wards around the mansion seemed to be weaker than usual. Try as he might, Lucius could not think of a reason why.  
  
After approximately forty minutes of waiting, the Dark Lord Apparated into the room and swirled into the chair behind the table.  
  
"Lucius," he nodded, adjusting the chair to a position he deemed comfortable.  
  
"My Lord," Lucius murmured.  
  
"Impeccable timing," the Dark Lord commented, a faint smile appearing on his pale face.  
  
Lucius lowered his gaze slightly in a way that could be interpreted as respect; truthfully, he had yet to get used to his master's new features. It unnerved him, speaking to someone whose actions contrasted so greatly with his looks.  
  
"Thank you, my Lord," he answered.  
  
Drumming his left hand on the armrest, the Dark Lord rested his chin on the back of his right hand, his eyes contemplative and looking away from Lucius.  
  
"The Order will try to infiltrate our Headquarters today," he informed him. An amused smile graced his features. "I trust that you've already noticed that the wards have been weakened."  
  
"Yes, my Lord."  
  
"It shouldn't be noticeable to those who are not familiar with this place," the Dark Lord said, his eyes scanning the room before he chuckled.  
  
"I didn't notice it at first glance, my Lord, so I doubt the Order members would know the difference," Lucius confirmed, his head slightly bowed.  
  
The Dark Lord nodded, his face suddenly serious as he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "Do you recall a Gryffindor by the name of Dean Thomas?"  
  
Lucius furrowed his eyebrows in thought, until a particular face appeared in his mind's eye.  
  
"Yes, my Lord, I believe I do," he answered.  
  
The Dark Lord raised his eyebrow. With a flick of his wrist, a photograph on top of the table flew in front of Lucius, who caught it and studied it. "The tall, dark one."  
  
"My Lord, I don't see ...."  
  
"You are to allow him through the wards, Lucius," the Dark Lord instructed. "You are to lead him, without letting him know, to the library."  
  
________________________________________  
  
Grey eyes concentrated on the orange flames flickering in the fireplace. He was displeased. No, that word didn't even express a small fraction of what he was feeling.  
  
"Lucius." A soft, petite hand was placed on his shoulder. Without thinking, he placed his hand over it, taking comfort from the familiarity and warmth in it. "Is something wrong?"  
  
As much as it pained Lucius to rein in his anger, he did not want Narcissa to worry too much. If he told her how that disgusting little Mudblood had disgraced him in front of the Dark Lord, she was bound to start fretting again.  
  
Absentmindedly, Lucius stroked Narcissa's hand before pulling her in front of him.  
  
"What should I do?" he mused, more to himself than to her.  
  
She tilted her head to the side, and for a moment there, he could almost see the young woman he had married so many years ago. She knelt down and placed her other hand on his knee. A gentle smile appeared on his face and he cupped her cheek with his free hand.  
  
A "crack" disturbed their moment of peace, causing both occupants of the room to look away from one another.  
  
"Bellatrix," Lucius greeted her with a nod of his head and a guarded look.  
  
He didn't exactly loath the woman (although her insanity had thrown him off-kilter many times already), but neither did he trust her.  
  
"Hello, Lucius," Bellatrix greeted him, a grin plastered on her face. It did not take a genius to figure out why she was so pleased. "How did the mission go today?" she asked sweetly.  
  
A bit too sweetly.  
  
"I would be tremendously surprised if you had not already heard what happened," Lucius replied, his expression cool, hiding his true emotions.  
  
"Oh, silly me. Of course," Bellatrix giggled, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "Did the Dark Lord punish the little Mudblood?"  
  
It was, again, clear that she already knew the answer.  
  
"No," he answered, tightening his grip around Narcissa's hand.  
  
His wife gave him a little squeeze, expressing her support for him although she probably had no idea what was going on. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and she gave him a small smile.  
  
"Didn't I tell you? Is this not proof enough that our Lord is changing?"  
  
The blond didn't answer. To him, it was hardly enough "proof" that the Dark Lord was changing, unless she meant that he was getting more powerful and more threatening.  
  
However, Bellatrix interpreted his silence in her own way. "What did I tell you? We have to get rid of the Mudblood before our Lord turns weak."  
  
Narcissa's eyes widened in alarm, but she bit her lower lip to refrain from speaking up. She knew as much as Lucius did how mental the woman could be when it came to the Dark Lord.  
  
"Think about it, Lucius. The little Mudblood has always had always had something against our family. And now that she's so close to the Dark Lord—" Annoyance flashed through her eyes. "—she will try to interfere with the activities of the Death Eaters," Bella concluded.  
  
That particular worry was not unique to Bellatrix Lestrange; many Death Eaters were already murmuring in secret about the influence the Mudblood might have over their master. Some were even speculating that it was matter of time before the Dark Lord's wand would be pointed towards them whenever the Mudblood wanted him to do so.  
  
"What do you propose?" he asked, lowering his eyes and hiding his emotions.  
  
Fear flooded into Narcissa's eyes and he gave her hand another squeeze, wordlessly telling her not to worry.  
  
His deal with Bellatrix Lestrange would be limited to the point where it was beneficial to him. He was not going to let his insane sister-in-law use him or get him in danger.  
  
To allow that to happen would be unthinkable.  
  
________________________________________  
  
Lucius stood outside the dungeons, waiting for Macnair and Mulciber to finish their torturing session with the Gryffindor boy.  
  
Although he had been surprised when he had seen the Dark Lord appear in the library with his former snake-like looks, it was nothing compared to this. When he had been given this task, he had seriously considered hexing the Dark Lord to see if it was someone else under the Polyjuice Potion. It was truly a disgrace to the name of Malfoy.  
  
"Lucius," Macnair greeted him as they walked out of the dungeon.  
  
Mulciber, on the other hand, was not as courteous. Lucius, of course, could care less about what he was thinking. His lips promptly curved into a sneer of its own.  
  
"Got your arse kicked by the silly little Mudblood, didn't you?" Mulciber smirked.  
  
"Perhaps you should worry about yourself, Mulciber, instead of sticking your nose into other people's business," Lucius narrowed his eyes.  
  
"And you call yourself a Death Eater? You couldn't even stop a girl from Stunning you!" Mulciber continued, causing the blond's eyes to narrow to mere slits.  
  
"Mulciber, we still need to report back to the Dark Lord," Macnair reminded him quietly, breaking the tension between the two.  
  
The two men shared another glare before Mulciber and Macnair Apparated away.  
  
Lucius stood at the doorway, calming himself down before he walked into the dungeon.  
  
Dean Thomas hung in midair, his hands tied to a rope hanging from the ceiling. His eyes were wide open, staring directly at him.  
  
"Episkey," Lucius cast, healing the boy's less severe wounds.  
  
The boy gaped at him for a moment before muttering a soft "Thank you."  
  
Lucius slid into the chair directly in front of the young man, looked out of the window, and heaved a sigh. Silence hung in the air, almost like some kind of noose, waiting to loop itself around a victim and suffocate them.  
  
"Why do you even bother?" Thomas suddenly spoke up, following Lucius's lead and looking out the window.  
  
"What do you mean?" Lucius questioned defensively.  
  
"They're treating you like some kind of vermin and you're—"  
  
"That," Lucius cut in, "is not your concern."  
  
"I was just saying," Thomas muttered. "After all, Malfoy was my classmate, albeit a rather ... well ...."  
  
"You had better learn to hold your tongue, Thomas," Lucius hissed, standing up from his chair and taking a step towards the young man. "You are no longer in the Headquarters of the Order. It will do you well to remember that everyone here is capable and comfortably willing to do this." With a wave of his wand, he placed the young man under the Cruciatus.  
  
A bloodcurdling scream rang throughout the cellar while the young man thrashed about in midair with nothing to lean against or support himself against.  
  
"Well, excuse me for attempting to throw the truth in your face," Thomas mouthed off when he was finally released from the curse.  
  
Lucius lowered his wand and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he opened them again and took a few steps towards Dean.  
  
"If," he said in a low voice, "I let you go, will you save Draco?"  
  
Thomas stared at him, wide-eyed, before he frowned. "What's the catch?"  
  
"I will lower the wards to the mansion while the Dark Lord is away and notify the Order to save you," Lucius told him.  
  
"Why are you helping me?" Thomas asked, a guarded look on his face.  
  
"I can't let Draco stay here any longer," Lucius told him, closing his eyes again. "The Dark Lord .... No, I can't allow my son to be in the way of danger any longer."  
  
"Why should I believe you?" Thomas asked uneasily.  
  
Lucius opened his eyes and gazed at him for a short span of time. "You don't have to." He paused. "I'm just taking my chance. In your current condition, you don't have anything to lose, do you?"  
  
________________________________________  
  
"Thomas!" a female Order member embraced the young man. A male Order member ruffled his hair.  
  
A wand was promptly pricked into the side of Lucius's neck.  
  
"We thank you for helping us save Thomas, Mr. Malfoy, but excuse us when we say that we don't believe that you've done this without an ulterior motive," the male said.  
  
"Churchill ...."  
  
"Stay out of this, Thomas," Churchill warned, keeping his eyes on the blond.  
  
"Of course," Lucius replied silkily, "this is precisely the way to treat someone who had assisted you in something that would've been virtually impossible to achieve."  
  
A frown found its place on the female's face.  
  
"He's right, Churchill."  
  
"Audley, don't tell me you trust this scumbag."  
  
"We ought to give him a chance, Huntington," Audley said. She quickly added, "I'm not saying that we should trust him. I'm just saying that we shouldn't harm him."  
  
"Who said anything about harming him?" Churchill asked before he returned his attention to Lucius. "Look here, mate, we'll let you go under one condition. Where's Hermione Granger?"  
  
"How would I—"  
  
"Don't try to lie to us, Mister. We know that she's not in the mansion, but she's with You-Know-Who. Now you either tell us where she is, or we'll have to force it out of you, debt or not," Churchill threatened.  
  
"If you think that threatening me will get you answers, I'm afraid you're mistaken," Lucius sneered. "I merely wanted a way out for Draco when I agreed to help the boy escape. I obviously cannot do anything if you are unwilling to help my son. However, if you want me to outwardly betray the Dark Lord, you are either delusional or daydreaming."  
  
All of them fell silent, each with their own thoughts.  
  
"I guess we will have to give up on that mission then," Churchill heaved a sigh after a while. He prodded Lucius with his wand again. "I'm sorry to say that we can't help you, Malfoy. You've chosen to be a Death Eater yourself."  
  
A blank expression appeared on the blond's face, making it difficult for the Order members to deduce what exactly was going through his mind.  
  
Seconds later, after the Order members disappeared around the corner, Lucius made his way to the study.  
  
"Lucius, where were you? One of the prisoners was rescued," Crabbe said, running up to him. "Macnair, Mulciber, and the Lestranges are searching the grounds for the Order members."  
  
"Have you seen Draco?" he asked.  
  
"I think the Dark Lord just ordered for Draco to meet with him at the secret house—"  
  
"Why?" Lucius asked, unable to hide his alarm.  
  
"I'm not sure, but—" Crabbe stopped in his words.  
  
"But what?"  
  
"From what Rodolphus said, it seems as if the Dark Lord's furious with Draco—"  
  
Without waiting for Crabbe to finish his words, Lucius swirled around him and made his way towards the study, his usual calm demeanor completely broken down.  
  
A loud "thud" behind him caused him to turn around. It seemed like that Order members had not aborted their mission to save the little Mudblood after all.  
  
"I think we can make a deal now," Churchill grinned, lowering his wand. "You help us find Hermione Granger and we'll help you and your son."  
  
________________________________________  
  
The Dark Lord was frighteningly accurate in predicting the thinking processes of their enemies. To Lucius, it was a warning. He would have to plan everything out ahead of time to avoid letting his Master suspect him.  
  
Therefore, waiting for the mark on his left forearm to burn was a relatively easy process, since he was busy thinking out his steps. When the moment came, he hurried out of the mansion with the rest of the selected Death Eaters towards the point where they could Apparate. He slowed his steps when he passed the living room, catching sight of the woman sitting on the couch. She stared at the fireplace, although there was a hollow look in her eyes. Her mind was apparently somewhere else, rather than on the merrily burning logs.  
  
"Bellatrix," he walked up to her. "I find it hard to believe that the Dark Lord has not summoned you."  
  
She ignored him, keeping her eyes in front of her and twirling a lock of hair with the forefinger of her right hand.  
  
He sneered. "Are you hoping the Order will actually save Granger? It's not going to happen, my dearest sister-in-law; the Dark Lord would never allow it."  
  
Finally, she shifted in her seat, yet she didn't answer him.  
  
He narrowed his eyes and circled around her. "If that's your plan, you must realize how foolish it is. The Dark Lord would punish us all most severely for arriving late. If, by any chance, the Mudblood does get saved by the Order, we are going to suffer much more than Thomas."  
  
Bellatrix's coal black eyes flickered up to him, her eyes filled with jealous rage, yet there was an unexpected flicker of reason in them.  
  
"We have to find another chance, if we want to get rid of Granger. This, however, is not our chance," he lowered his voice to a whisper.  
  
She closed her eyes, biting the insides of her cheeks. Lucius could tell that she was not willing to go, but understood that she needed to do so. There was no other way.  
  
For she did not dare to go against the orders of the Dark Lord.  
________________________________________  
  
"Malfoy!" Avery's voice sounded amongst the eight of them.  
  
An air of confusion momentarily shrouded them. The wards to the secret house should've been momentarily shifted when they reached the edge of the forest surrounding the mansion, the point where they could Apparate. By shifting them early, which was what Lucius had done, there would be the possibility of the Order members slipping through the wards.  
  
"If the Order members escape, it's not my fault," Avery warned.  
  
"I doubt that they are going to sense the change in the wards," Lucius replied silkily. "And shifting the wards now will save us more time and keep the Dark Lord from waiting."  
  
Avery shot him a glance, but didn't refute what he said since it made sense. Shifting the wards took a good amount of time. If they shifted them when they reached the point of Apparition, a lapse of time would undoubtedly pass. However, there just seemed to be something wrong with Lucius's actions, though Avery could not think of what.  
  
With eight cracks, the Death Eaters arrived at the secret house, just in time to see three of the Order members Apparating out of the house.  
  
Avery gave him another look, but Lucius pretended to keep his attention on the remaining enemies. Behind the mask, thin lips curved into a victorious smirk.  
  
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and swirled the armchair that the Mudblood was sitting in around. Fury flooded the room as the Dark Lord glared at the petite, yet daring witch sitting directly in front of him. The dark magic that was now swirling around the room was much, much more powerful than what Lucius was exposed to days ago, to the point that it nearly astounded him.  
  
Despite his anger, the Dark Lord spoke ever so calmly, "Lucius."   
  
Lucius took a step forward.   
  
"Take them to the dungeons."  
  
Naturally, the Dark Lord meant the dungeons back at his mansion.  
  
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied, bowing his head before turning towards their prisoners.  
  
A sneer touched his lips again when his eyes met with the Order members he had spoken to before. After placing each and every one of them under the Full Body Bind, the Death Eaters Apparated with them back to the mansion. Avery turned on his heels and faced Lucius after their captives were safely locked away in the dungeons.  
  
"I knew this was going to happen," he immediately blurted out, pulling his mask off and glaring at Lucius. "I knew some of the Order members would escape. If the Dark Lord asks us, I'm going to tell him exactly what happened."  
  
"Be my guest, Avery," Lucius said, sitting down in the nearest chair and crossing his legs leisurely. "What I did was only in the Dark Lord's best interest."  
  
"If the Dark Lord does ask us," Macnair chuckled. "Seems like the little Gryffindor Mudblood had a hand in helping the blood traitors and other Mudbloods escape."  
  
"If the Dark Lord does ask us," Lucius echoed, a smirk finding its place onto his face. "I suppose I should return to the Malfoy Manor. Narcissa is probably quite worried."  
  
He swirled out of the chair and headed outside. The moonlight was shining coldly, flickering off the fountain that sat in front of the front door. Lucius inhaled, thoroughly pleased with what had happened tonight, and moved forward towards the point of Apparition.  
  
True, he was taking risks, but it was better than letting the Mudblood's influence over the Dark Lord grow. With a pop, he Apparated home, and as he had predicted, his wife immediately questioned him about what had happened.  
  
"Narcissa, I won't do anything that would endanger our family again," Lucius vowed, gently cupping her cheek.  
  
She closed her eyes, worry etched on her face. "I'm scared, Lucius. If I lose you or Draco ..."  
  
He placed his finger on her lips, stopping her mid sentence, and she opened her eyes, staring into his stormy grey eyes. "Which will never happen."  
  
The move he made tonight was only to let the Dark Lord suspect the Granger's thoughts and loyalty. He knew his master would not immediately kill the Mudblood, but it laid the foundations for his future moves.  
  
He was, of course, very much annoyed with the Mudblood, but he was not going to risk his reputation or family for her. No, getting rid of her would require a well thought out plan, not the reckless havoc that Bellatrix was so talented in bringing to pass. After all, to bypass someone as intelligent as the Dark Lord would require some thinking and cunningness.  
  
And he was certainly no Slytherin if he did not have cunningness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : Violence, torture, bondage, oral, non-con, humil, language, abuse, descriptive lemon, M/f, D/s, BDSM, and BP.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open and met with his. She wasn't overly surprised to find him infuriated, although it still made her wary.  
  
"I know," she whispered, her face still flushed from their kiss. "I know that ... they will never believe me. But I ... I ..."  
  
"But you still choose to believe them—you still lie to yourself, thinking that they will accept you once you helped them overturn me," he finished for her, his voice eerily calm.  
  
"I didn't know that they were going to find this place!" she argued. "I didn't even know they were coming here!"  
  
"Perhaps," he conceded before smiling mockingly. "But," he placed a finger under her chin and tilted it upwards until she looked directly into his eyes, "you cannot deny the fact that you've had thoughts of vanquishing me."  
  
She opened her mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Well ... that really depended on  _when_  he was talking about. For months now, she hadn't even thought about rebelling against him, let alone wanting him dead, which was why she constantly felt guilty towards the people from the Light side who had died during the war—especially Harry and Ron. Many nights, she would wake up mid-sleep and stare out the window until the sunrise because of that guilt.  
  
Apparently, however, Lord Voldemort interpreted her silence differently. He narrowed his eyes and curled up his hand until he grabbed her chin. Her forehead creased from the more than necessary force he was exerting on her, though she stared back at him stubbornly.  
  
As his lips pressed into a thin line, she quickly opened her mouth to explain.  
  
"I haven't had thoughts of ... leaving you ever since ..." she trailed off before continuing. "But you’re expecting me to betray my friends."  
  
His lips curled into a vile smile. "You belong to me, Hermione."  
  
"Because I choose to be," she replied, promptly wiping the smirk off his face. "But that doesn’t mean that I’m renouncing everything that I am."  
  
"It doesn’t matter if it was because your choice—"  
  
"No," she interrupted him, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "It does matter. If it wasn’t my choice, I wouldn’t feel any regret and can blame everything on the lack of choice. Because it is my choice, I can’t blame anyone or anything for any consequences."  
  
"In other words, you're regretting your choice," he concluded.  
  
"I—" she paused in her words.  
  
She couldn't deny that there were times when she did question her choice, but downright regretting it ... that thought had never crossed her mind.  
  
He grabbed and roughly pulled her up to standing position.  
  
"But why should I care if a filthy, despicable being like yourself regretted your choice?" he hissed.  
  
She clenched her hands into fists, determined not to let his words hurt her. He was angry, so naturally, anything that came out of his mouth was aimed to make her upset.  
  
"It's only predictable that someone with such a disgusting background would betray those who had been generous to them," he continued, his face contorting in anger.  
  
Hermione nearly snorted, but refrained from doing so, trying her best to hold back her tongue and letting his anger run its course. It was easier said than done, however, since it seemed like he had his mind set on provoking her.  
  
"I should be surprised that it hadn't happened earlier," he sneered, "since what else can come out of dirt? Unlike pure-bloods such as Bella, who was and still is faithfully loyal to me."  
  
Her face paled momentarily, before irritation colored them rouge.  
  
"Yes, she is oh so very faithful," she replied sarcastically before she could even think about stopping herself—nor did she wanted to, "which is why she went behind your back and captured someone who was staying in your mansion, someone who you've  _specifically_  demanded was off-limits to them. Extremely loyal now, isn't she? Or are you going to tell me that she kidnapped me under your orders? She seemed rather worried about you finding out that I wasn't dead yet.  
  
"And Peter Pettigrew? Or is he going to be registered as a Muggle-born overnight now?" she asked. She would've crossed her arms over her chest if she could, but given her current position, she settled with just rolling her eyes. She completely ignored how his face was now coldly impassive which strongly contrasted with how tumultuous his eyes were. "Or did you 'accidentally' give him the wrong silver hand and it strangled him when he was displaying the ultimate act of faithfulness and loyalty by letting Harry go?"  
  
"And I'm very impressed by how  _very_  loyal Lucius Malfoy is. Of course, he's only loyal for as long as it suits him, as long as his position of power is not being threatened. But who cares? Oh, and his family. We all know how important that is." She rolled her eyes upwards as if she was thinking deeply. "They are all in your inner circle, aren't they? Surely you thought they were at least useful and loyal enough to you to get there. Let's not forget that Professor Snape was part of it, too."  
  
"So incredibly useful, always giving you information about the Order," she continued, not noticing the changes in the Dark Lord's expression. "Did it ever occur to you that he's giving information to you on Dumbledore's orders now, did it? He was such an excellent Occlumens, and you've never even thought about the possibility that he was successful in Occluding his mind?"  
  
Although she didn't get a chance to find out from Harry about Snape's whole story, she had a hunch that the memories that the he'd left Harry were definitely not about tea time with Lord Voldemort.  
  
"Never wondered why your plans always got foiled last minute now, did you? So obviously, you've never even thought about the possibility that Professor Snape might've been spying for Professor Dumbledore and had successfully hidden that fact from you." She snorted. "Did you really think that they were the only ones? Pray tell, how many more traitors do you still have, walking around and waiting for you to slip? Or are you  _mercifully_  waiting for them to show you their true colors when disaster strikes and it's far too late for amends?"  
  
It was only after she stopped talking that she noticed how suspiciously quiet he had been throughout her entire monologue. Staring at his face right now, she was suddenly very aware of how very angry he was, causing her to bite her lower lip. She had definitely spoken too much.  
  
Digging his fingers into her arm until she winced from the pain, he threw her on the floor and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at her, noticing the look of fear that flashed over her face with savage satisfaction. It had been a while since he had last tortured her, let alone use that curse on her, but clearly, she still remembered the pain.  
  
" _Crucio_."  
  
He pronounced each syllable deliberately, making sure she heard every single one of it. As her screams bounced off the walls, he closed his eyes and relished at the sound. He opened his eyes again seconds later and held the curse on her, circling around her while doing so, much like a snake coiling around a struggling victim.  
  
"Do you know how spoils of war and traitors are treated, my little Mudblood?" he asked quietly, as if he wasn't currently holding a curse on her at the moment. "I suppose you wouldn't know. After all, you were locked up in my mansion for the last seven years."  
  
He finally stopped, watching her as she stayed on the floor, panting and sweating. He reached down, grabbed her hair, and pulled her up, causing her to yelp in pain. He smiled, yet his eyes had a red glint to it, signifying his anger.  
  
"No, you don't, because I've been much too kind to you," he hissed.  
  
His breath brushed against her ear and the curve of neck, causing gooseflesh to erupt across her skin, but his words ignited her anger again—did he  _still_  think that she was a bloody traitor? She was about to say something in return when he tugged on her arm, pulling her against his body.  
  
"Then I shall show you," he said.  
  
With a pop, they Disapparated from the secret house.  
  
\-----  
  
A thick aroma of incense immediately filled Hermione's nose, rushing straight into her veins, and her body relaxed, more than it should after being held under the Cruciatus and after Apparation. Not to mention the fact that she was still furious at him, which made the whole situation even more illogical. She couldn't help but suddenly notice just how perfect his features were. If he wasn't holding on to her arms in a death grip, she really, really wanted to run her hands over his eyes, nose, and lips.  
  
"Let's start with level one," he whispered.  
  
His breath blew against her face and she nearly closed her eyes and sighed. The senses on her face seemed to be heightened for some reason. He turned her around, letting her see the other occupants in the room, and she barely heard his next words.  
  
"If your little redheaded friend was still alive," he spoke, "this is the treatment she would've received."  
  
The scene that was presented before her should've disgusted her, especially when the witch in question was someone she knew. Lavender Brown was kneeling on the floor; a Death Eater was—Hermione refused to believe Lavender was doing it willingly— _raping_  her while four other naked Death Eaters watched on the side. But somehow, Hermione could only focus on how Voldemort's arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her in his embrace.  
  
"It's a pity Rabastan killed Ginevra before she got the punishment she should've received," he chuckled softly next to her ear, causing tremors to go through her body.  
  
"My Lord—" the Death Eater in the room was about to stop in his activities but was stopped by a wave of Lord Voldemort's hand.  
  
"Continue," he coldly ordered. He turned his focus back to Hermione. "You've known Miss Brown, have you not?" He gestured at the witch who was moaning loudly while the Death Eater did as he was told and continued.  
  
Hermione swallowed and nodded, trying to focus on what he was saying. It must be the incense. There was something wrong with the incense.  
  
"Linwood, Alden, Farnes, Okland, and Brewton were rather enamored with Miss Brown ever since they first saw her and are now ...  _sharing_  her," Voldemort told her, tightening his hold around her waist. "Of course, the young lady had been difficult for the first couple of years, since she was—" He paused and when he spoke again, it was with a tone of voice one would use for telling jokes. "—still very much  _in love_  with Mr. Weasley."  
  
Her heart constricted at the mention of her former boyfriend, but only momentarily. Nowadays, the only feeling she felt when she thought about Ron was guilt, but she knew that there were some things that couldn't be fought, fate being one of them. Lord Voldemort had been destined to win, just like she had been destined to fall in love with the mortal enemy of most of the Wizarding World.  
  
"I must admit that I am  _very_  surprised by how popular Mr. Weasley had been and still is, after his death," he continued to say, running his finger up her arm until it came in contact with her hair. He took a lock in his hand and twirled it around his finger. "Was it his looks?" He paused again as if he was contemplating on that thought. "Was it his sense of humor?" He raised an eyebrow. "It certainly wasn't because of his intelligence because from what I've heard, his brain capacity was barely the size of a pea."  
  
With one move, he grabbed a huge chunk of her hair and pulled her head backwards, causing her to yelp, and she found herself staring into his eyes.  
  
"Tell me, Hermione," he demanded, increasing the strength of his pull with each word he said and neglecting how she winced from the pain.  
  
She had no answer for him, so she remained silent, and predictably, it only increased his irritation at her. But no more whimpers escaped from her mouth as he increased enough pressure on her waist to pain her—she was sure there would be bruises where his hand was placed right now.  
  
"So defiant," he murmured, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.  
  
They stared at one another, the only sounds coming from Lavender and the Death Eater.  
  
"Domitus!" Lavender screamed the name of the Death Eater, shocking Hermione.  
  
"After two years, Miss Brown had learned to embrace her fate, to submit to her masters," Voldemort explained softly. "She understood who had won the war, who she should be submissive towards, and who should be the objects of her loyalty. Seven years ... seven  _years_  and you still haven't learned your place." He gazed at her mockingly. "Or perhaps I've underestimated you. Perhaps you do know Occlumency better than I'd given you credit for."

She stared at him, momentarily stunned by what he was insinuating.

"Don't understand what I'm saying? Or are you ...  _pretending_  again?"  
  
Her jaws dropped open slightly. He was using her argument against her—he thought  _she_  was Occluding her mind against him.  
  
"I should've known," he said, his voice lowering to a dangerous level. "Potter's Mudblood ... his cowardly sidekick's girlfriend ... and to believe that you've  _fallen in love with me_ ," he said, mockery dripping from those last words.  
  
"If I do—"  
  
"Silence," he hissed, yanking her hair again. The pain on her scalp was more than enough to stop her in her words. "I am not interested in listening to excuses and lies, especially when the words had been influenced by outside means."  
  
His words confirmed her suspicions, although she couldn't help but be curious about why aphrodisiacal incense would be used if Lavender had been willing. Her eyes flickered over to the witch.  
  
"She's submissive ... yet, she's unhappy," Voldemort told her, as if he had read her mind, and maybe he had. "The pleasures are greatly decreased when the object is acting much like a frozen corpse. I might as well give them an Inferi instead of Miss Brown."  
  
She didn't speak, not knowing how to respond, and she knew that explaining, right now, that she never had thoughts of getting him killed ever since she had been intimate with him would be fruitless. He would only brush it off as her mind being under influence.  
  
A few minutes later, the Death Eaters behind her laughed, although she had no idea about what, since she hadn't been listening to their conversation nor did they speak loudly. She kept her eyes on Voldemort, her face flushed and her lips slightly parted.  
  
"We still haven't seen where Mudbloods like you are supposed to be," he commented conversationally, as if he wasn't talking about a punishment. His lips curled into a falsely amicable smile. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. We haven't visited the half-bloods who'd stood up against me yet."  
  
She felt the world swirl around as she felt a jerk in her stomach. Moments later, she found herself in a completely different environment. The smell of rotting flesh attacked her still overly sensitive senses. Her stomach lurched and she leaned forward on Voldemort's arm, dry heaving.  
  
"My ...  _apologies_ ," he said softly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have brought you here right after letting you inhale those incenses." He chuckled, negating any regret he had expressed in his words and showcasing just how much he enjoyed her discomfort. "But then again, you'd probably have the same reactions after you see what happen to Mudbloods."  
  
She turned her head slightly, so that she could glare at him, but found that his eyes were looking forward. She swiveled her head around and found a group of men staring at the two of them in surprise.  
  
"Have Greyback failed to teach you proper manners? Or should I speak to each and every one of you personally?" he said, his voice not much louder, but the authoritative tone was undeniable.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened at the mention of the werewolf. If half-bloods were condemned to this kind of fate, she wondered what kind of life Muggle-borns were living through.  
  
"My Lord," they chorused disharmoniously as they scattered to kneel to the Dark Lord.  
  
"Greyback's in his chambers, I assume?" Voldemort demanded.  
  
One of the more daring werewolves answered, "Yes, my Lord."  
  
"Excellent." A sadistic smirk appeared on Voldemort's face.  
  
Dragging Hermione towards the exit of the cavern, he told her in a lower voice, "Aren't you curious about what you're about to see, Hermione? After you've seen Miss Brown, aren't you curious if one of your classmates is currently lying underneath Greyback?"  
  
That thought itself  _sickened_  Hermione and she nearly dry heaved again.  
  
"This is inhumane," she declared, her eyes widening as she witnessed a young man—she swore she had seen him while she was back at Hogwarts—chained to one of the walls of the cavern. A werewolf eyed him hungrily while licking the blood off one of his wounds, which suspiciously looked like injuries from whips or claws.  
  
"I never said it wasn't," he conceded, amusement laced throughout his words. "What did you expect? A mansion, a couple of house elves, a handful of Galleons, and a position of power in the Ministry for all of those who had stood up to me?" He laughed.  
  
A scream startled her for a second before she looked back at him.  
  
"No, but it didn't have to be ..." She closed her eyes.  
  
_Like Lavender ... like that boy ... and whoever it was who'd just screamed ..._  
  
"I understand the danger they might impose upon your reign, but ... you could've imprisoned them, exiled them ...  _anything_  is preferable to ... to  _this_ ," she shook her head slowly.  
  
"Oh?" he questioned, the ends of his lips curling upwards again. "Is that so? I'll remember to keep that in mind."  
  
They stopped in front of the entrance of another cave. Another bloodcurdling scream echoed through the air while the sounds of a cross between a bark of laugh and growling intertwined with it.  
  
Hermione could feel the ends of her hair stand up.  
  
"Take a guess who's inside," Voldemort said, turning around to gaze at Hermione.  
  
A grin appeared on his face when he noticed how her face had turned pale white, and his eyes flickered over to her right hand which was hovering above the holster where she kept her wand.  
  
"If you hex him, I  _will_  give his slave to another werewolf, and you will only worsen her situation," he warned quietly, successfully stopping her from thoughts about hexing Greyback the moment she entered the cave.  
  
However, when she saw the look of agony on Susan Bones's face, a wave of anger and disgust washed over and made her sway on her feet. A bed was placed against one of the cave wall's, which striked Hermione as strange—she had thought that the werewolf would've slept on the floor. Susan was lying on top of it, naked, while Greyback had his mouth clamped onto her shoulder and his nails dug into her arm, piercing the skin. Blood leaked out of her wounds, staining the mattress. Hermione's stomach churned.  
  
Her hand flew back to where it was before, but unfortunately, Voldemort seemed to have known that she would something like that, since he gripped onto her arm before she could pull out her wand.  
  
"Insolent witch," he growled lowly, "I will not tolerate another one of your stunts. I  _will_  immobilize you if you try to do something unintelligent again."  
  
Greyback lifted his head from his prey, revealing the chewed up flesh there, and Hermione could clearly see what suspiciously look like Susan's shoulder bone.  
  
"My Lord," he greeted, licking his lips and cleaning off the traces of blood there.  
  
He released Susan's arm and, in the process, scratched off pieces of skin and flesh, causing the girl to whimper in pain.  
  
"Continue," Voldemort ordered again.  
  
A growl left the throat of Greback and a grin appeared on hi's face. He turned around and this time, he bit into Susan's other shoulder.  
  
Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes, digging her hands into her palm again.  
  
A hand suddenly clutched onto her chin, forcing her head to tilt upwards. She opened her eyes.  
  
"I'm not allowing you to escape from this, Hermione Granger. You are to watch every single minute of this, and if you don't," his lips curved into a sneer, "I promise you, I will make them suffer, more than what they are going through right now." He pushed her face towards the bed again. "Now continue watching. Perhaps you might learn a thing or two about actual servitude."  
  
Greyback's hand was traveling up and down Susan's body now, leaving wedges behind, as he took her. Her face was wet—although Hermione had no idea if it was from sweat or tears—as if she had just walked out of the rain.  
  
Suddenly, Susan's eyes alighted on hers. Hermione unconsciously took a step back, right up against Voldemort—she hadn't noticed when he had moved behind her. She felt as if someone stabbed her heart with a sharp item when she realized she couldn't do  _anything_  to help her classmate.  
  
"Please ... please make him stop," Hermione whispered, grabbing a hold of his arm, but not daring to take her eyes off Greyback and Susan, in fear of what might happen to the Hufflepuff.  
  
"Does it make you sick, Hermione? Does it make you hate me, for bringing this upon your friends? Or does it just simply give you  _another reason_  to hate me?"  
  
Throughout the whole time, Susan continued sobbing, gazing into Hermione's eyes, as blood poured from her wounds. The Hufflepuff's face was pale white from the loss of blood. Hermione supposed that Susan was kept alive by magic since there was no way one could lose so much blood and continue to live.  
  
"Please ... please ... please ..." Hermione shook her head.  
  
It hurt her worse than when she was placed under the Cruciatus.  
  
"Answer me, Hermione," he ordered quietly, snaking his arm around her waist. "Do you regret 'saving' me from those Order members, your friends? Do you regret giving yourself to me?"  
  
She continued shaking her head.  
  
"Liar," he hissed. He grabbed her face, turned her around, and forced her to look at him. "You feel disgusted with everything that's happening. You hate me for allowing your classmate be raped. You hate me for not doing anything about it.  
  
"Are you going to turn your wand towards me if the Order members were to Apparate in right now? Will you still stand in front of me?" He smiled sarcastically, doubt written clearly all over his face. He glanced at Greyback and Susan before looking back at Hermione. A touch of wickedness was added to his smile. "Ready to see what happens to Mudbloods?"  
  
The color of her face turned to a ghostly shade of greenish white.  
  
Before she could so much as protest, he had already Apparated them to a different location.  
  
Laughter and jeers immediately reached her ears when they reached their destination. A chorus of "My Lord" echoed through the room the moment she steadied herself. Voldemort gave them a nod, although he didn't look away from her, and the sounds of chattering filled the room once more.  
  
"If you so much as touch your wand, I will have Miss Brown and Miss Bones taken here.  _Immediately_ ," he threatened coldly, his face expressionless.  
  
A shiver ran down Hermione's spine, and he raised an eyebrow, amused. Without saying anything, he turned her around so that she could see the rest of the occupants of the room.  
  
She wished she could run. She wished she was back in Voldemort's room, safely hidden under the blankets.  _Anywhere_ , but here.  
  
Some of the Death Eaters were looking at Lord Voldemort curiously, wondering why their master had suddenly decided to come here. Others were ogling at Hermione and nudging one another, followed by lust-filled chuckles. Apparently, they thought that Hermione was going to be given to them.  
  
However, that wasn't what frightened Hermione the most.  
  
Hannah Abbott's hands were tied at the wrists, the end of the rope tied to a hook on the ceiling. Her face was hollow, as if she hadn't eaten for days. Lines of red decorated her body—presumably from whippings— some of the gashes still bleeding. And what frightened Hermione the most wasn't the fact that Hannah was sandwiched between two men or the amount of people touching her.  
  
There was no life in Hannah's eyes—dead, and even more horrific than the look in a corpse's eyes. She seemed like a paper cutting of who Hermione had once been acquainted with. Gone was the sweet smile that would appear on the girl's face when she was delighted with something; gone was the liveliness that sparkled in the windows to her soul.  
  
No sounds were emitted from Hannah's mouth as new wounds were made to her body. She didn't so much as whimper or protest while the men thoroughly violated her body. She didn't even wince when different men took the place of previous men in front of and in back of her.  
  
Hermione bit down on her lower lip, resisting the urge to go on a killing spree, because she knew Voldemort would keep his promise and Hannah's fate would be bestowed on Lavender and Susan, too. She had thought that she had seen the worst with Susan, but Hannah's situation thoroughly shook her.  
  
"When Miss Abbott was first captured, she was given to one of the lower ranked Death Eaters," Voldemort's voice resounded in her ears. "She tried to escape so many times ... Unfortunately, that was precisely what excited Nethery."  
  
Hermione was terrified about what she might be hearing about next, but she couldn't stop herself from listening intently to each word that fell from his lips.  
  
"He was particularly fond of the whip."   
  
Her eyes fell on the red marks on Hannah's body and felt her heart constrict, feeling extremely sorry for the girl.   
  
"Every time she escaped, he would whip her," Voldemort continued to say. "Until three months after she was given to him. She killed him." He paused, allowing her to digest that piece of information before continuing. "I'd imagine that it was a rather satisfying experience for Miss Abbott, killing the person who'd tortured her." He placed the hand that had been supporting his chin on his knee and leaned forward. "Will you feel the same satisfaction when you avenge your friends, Hermione?"  
  
She wanted to scream, but she was afraid that it would only excite the men more, since it was obvious to her that each and every one of them were sadists.  
  
She knew. She knew all along that men and women across the country were being tortured for standing up to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, what she had seen in the last seven years had been limited to strangers. She had thought that everyone she knew had died, but apparently, she knew  _nothing_.  
  
"Don't you wish dear Harry won the war?" Voldemort asked her softly, stroking her hair as if they were merely chatting. "Don't you wish that he cast a well-aimed Killing Curse towards me in that final battle? Then, perhaps none of this would've happened." He laughed, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Tell me how much you hate me, Hermione."  
  
She turned her head around, until she could look at him clearly.  
  
She couldn't. It disgusted her to no ends that even after seeing the things he was allowing, she could not bring herself to hate him.  
  
"Have I given you enough reasons to watch with satisfaction if your friends ever get the chance to capture and execute me?"  
  
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him dying.  
  
His eyes never left hers. Seconds later, he pressed her body towards him and they Apparated back to his mansion. He threw her on the bed once they reached there, and it was only then that tears started to fall down her cheeks.

"Prepare yourself," he ordered.

She wiped her tears away before looking at him, not wanting to let him see her weakness. He stood sideways, with the fire behind him so she couldn't clearly see his expression.

"I want you to be there when I speak to your ...  _friends_  from the Order."


	10. Chapter 10

He inhaled deeply as the wintry breezes hit him full on.

It had been years since he had come back to Russia, the last time being when he was just a mere lad of fourteen, during summer break from Hogwarts. After that …

Well, with the First Wizarding War and years in Azkaban, he daresay, he didn't have too much time.

The last fifteen days had been more like a vacation to him, rather than a mission.

Antonin Dolohov trudged up the hill, the foot-high snow crunching underneath his boots, a bag full of potions ingredients hitting the back of his leg as he went. The gates opened on their own accord, recognizing his blood, as did the front doors.

The ancient manor of the Dolohovs still stood proud and regal, protected by many wards and charms. However, it wasn't exactly hidden; it wasn't unknown that many of his ancestors enjoyed the occasional situations where a Muggle wandered onto their plot of land and died a horrible, painful death.

With a soft click, the doors closed behind him as the warmth of the flames in the fireplace washed over him.

The young man sitting in the armchair near the fire glanced up briefly from the giant tome he was reading from.

"My Lord," Dolohov murmured, kneeling down.

"The ingredients?" the Dark Lord inquired, not bothering to look up from the book anymore, after he allowed Dolohov to stand.

"The old wench hadn't been willing to part with it without a bit of persuasion," Dolohov answered, his lips curling into a nasty smirk as he recalled what he had done to the Muggle-born filth.

"I'm sure you've shown her the error of her ways."

"Yes, my Lord," Dolohov admitted.

A moment of silence passed, and though the Dark Lord's eyes continued roving over the pages, Dolohov knew that his master was plotting.

"Things with the Russian government?" the Dark Lord questioned.

A grin appeared on Dolohov's face. "Vaginov had been more than willing to participate. He had been worried that we would be attacking Russia next. Many of their Aurors had been killed in their last clash with Anfisa Assonova."

The Dark Lord closed the book he was reading with a snap.

"So they're not very keen with making yet another group of enemies who are proficient in dark magic," he mused out loud, drumming his fingers on the armrest.

"Should I arrange for a meeting with Anfisa?" Dolohov asked.

A ghost of a smile appeared on the Dark Lord's face. "Not yet. We still have some unfinished business to attend to. After all, my Death Eaters have yet to meet their 'new' lord and master."

Dolohov sniggered, already imagining the number of idiots who would fail to recognize the Dark Lord. After all, not many of them had had the privilege to know how the Dark Lord looked like before he acquired his more serpentine features.

"You shall return to England before me," the Dark Lord instructed. "Inform Rowle to join Rabastan and Yue-xuan in China. The Chinese are far too accustomed to haggling and most likely will not agree to a treaty without some persuasion and within such a short period of time."

"Prime Minister Lee seemed reluctant last time we've visited," Dolohov commented.

The Dark Lord waved the comment off. "She's waiting for us to make a better deal. It might be worth it in the long run, but for the time being, we'll let her finish her dramatics." A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. "I shall return to England two days after you. Inform all of my Death Eaters to gather in the meeting room, and I'll give you further instructions then."

"Yes, my Lord."

~-0-~

The trip back to England had been smooth. Nobody suspected the reason why the Dark Lord had been gone from two and a half weeks. That, however, placed a vicious smirk on Dolohov's face. He hoped some of those idiots would make the wrong move, like attempting to attack the Dark Lord. Not that they would know that they were attacking the Dark Lord, but he doubted that argument would work in their favor.

He seriously hoped that Malfoy would be the one who made such a mistake.

"Dolohov," the person who Apparated into the woods greeted.

"Huntington," Dolohov nodded.

"The Order will be attacking four days later in order to save the Mudblood witch," Huntington notified. A sly smile appeared on his face. "One of them is the Mudblood witch's former classmate."

Dolohov raised his eyebrows at this information. "Which one? I thought we killed them all."

Huntington shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. He's never been caught, I don't think. He's not really the type to rush to his death, like Potter."

"He's a Gryffindor, you said?" Dolohov asked, finding it strange.

He'd expected Gryffindors to be a lot brasher than this.

"He is, and he could be brave when needs to be," Huntington reported, obviously picking up on the disbelieving undertones in Dolohov's voice. "Not intelligent enough to scheme, but smart enough to hide when he's supposed to."

"Not smart enough, it appears," Dolohov cackled. "How many people will be coming?"

"Not more than six," Huntington replied.

"Very well then," Dolohov answered. "I will inform the Dark Lord about this."

After exchanging a few more words, Huntington Disapparated and Dolohov Apparated back to the Dark Lord's mansion.

The Dark Lord would be extremely pleased when he heard of the news. He had been waiting for the Order to attack for some time now.

A laugh nearly erupted from Dolohov's mouth when he recalled how some of the less intelligent Death Eaters had thought that the Dark Lord was succumbing to the Mudblood Granger's charms.

Delusional, the lot of them.

Dolohov had followed the Dark Lord for so many years; though he could not say that he fully understood the Dark Lord, Dolohov was certain about his thoughts about the concept of "love" and such. The Dark Lord would never allow himself to be ruled by amorous emotions, especially towards someone with dirty blood.

It was one of the reasons why Dolohov had remained loyal towards the Dark Lord for so long—the Dark Lord would never let things get in the way of his ambitions.

Dolohov was certain about it, and so he felt no trepidation in pushing those hearsays to the back of his mind.

~-0-~

Unfortunately, Malfoy was slippery enough to avoid torture from the Dark Lord.

It was a minor disappointment, but Dolohov supposed that he should've anticipated it. After all, Bellatrix Lestrange could probably sense the Dark Lord from ten miles away, let alone just a small "face change", and Malfoy had been keen enough to pick up on little signs like that.

Meeting with Anfisa was easier than he had expected. Other than striking a deal with the dark witch, Dolohov had also gathered pieces of important intelligence that might be useful to the Dark Lord.

When the Dark Lord summoned Dolohov to Little Hangleton, he had to admit that he was surprised. It had been years since the last time the Dark Lord had visited the place, and Dolohov had been under the impression that he had wanted to stay away from it as much as he could.

His second surprise came when he arrived in the living room of the Riddle House. To be exact, it came in the form of a witch—the Mudblood.

"I trust your meeting with Anfisa Assonova had gone well," the Dark Lord commented as if he didn't currently have a sleeping Mudblood next to him.

"Yes, my Lord," Dolohov answered a heartbeat slower than usual, thoroughly unsettled as he stared at the peculiar scene in front of him.

Granger didn't appear to be conscious; in fact, it almost seemed as if she were under a magically-induced sleep.

Dolohov's eyes met with the Dark Lord's, and the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at his short answer. Dolohov immediately averted his eyes and recomposed himself.

"Anfisa was relieved that we were willing to strike a deal with her. She didn't say it outright, but it was obvious that her clash with the Russian Aurors had left a considerable dent in her army," Dolohov reported, all the while casting uncertain glances towards the Mudblood. "She tried to cover it up by bringing some of her more well-known followers, such as Aglaya Dragunova and Ivan Bogolepov, but their actions were stilted, and I suspect many of them still carry wounds from their previous battle."

"She's not an idiot, or else she wouldn't have so many people supporting her in Russia," the Dark Lord mused. "She'll still be worried. We'll need to take over Germany as soon as we can or else she'll go behind our backs and send reinforcements there."

"Yes, my Lord."

A short silence followed, and discomfort caused Dolohov to shift on his feet, especially when the Dark Lord turned his head and looked towards Granger, brushing his fingers through the Mudblood's hair. The continuous lack of sound made Dolohov feel on edge. His eyes traveled between the Dark Lord and the Mudblood, and his muscles progressively got tenser with each passing second.

"Are you uncomfortable, Dolohov?" the Dark Lord suddenly asked, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

The question took him by surprise, and out of reflex, he looked downwards again. "No, my Lord."

"Liar," the Dark Lord said, dark amusement obvious in his tone of voice as he pushed himself away from the couch and stood up.

Dolohov dropped down to his knees. "My Lord—"

"You've heard the rumors, have you not?" the Dark Lord questioned.

"Yes, my Lord, but—"

"You didn't believe it," the Dark Lord said. "At first." A soft chuckle left his lips as he slowly circled around Dolohov. "You could keep telling yourself how utterly loyal you are to your Lord and master, how much you believe that Lord Voldemort would never fall for a Mudblood, but you didn't realize how those whispers had poisoned your mind until you saw the Mudblood in front of you."

Cold sweat dripped down Dolohov's forehead. His hands pressed against the floor, and his two arms barely supported his weight.

"I must confess that I am … disappointed in your readiness to believe in rumors, Dolohov."

"My Lord," Dolohov whispered. "I … I …"

"Shall I prepare myself for the day when you decide to join the others in plotting how to overturn me and bring about a new era with a new Dark Lord? Or perhaps—" His voice turned mocking. "—you're ambitious enough to become the next Dark Lord?"

The Dark Lord's tone of voice was light, but the words hit Dolohov like a wall of bricks. He bowed even lower.

"My Lord, it never—the thoughts of betrayal never passed my mind. I …" Taking in a deep breath, Dolohov continued, "I am sorry for ever doubting you, Master. I …"

"Enough," the Dark Lord said coldly, now standing in front of him.

Dolohov stopped and remained kneeling in front of his Lord. Perspiration coagulated, trickling down his face and onto the floor.

"But I am a merciful Lord," the Dark Lord mused out loud. "Perhaps I can overlook your error this time?"

"My Lord, I would be forever grateful," Dolohov whispered.

"I trust you will not fall into the habit of second-guessing your Master again?"

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you for your forgiveness, my Lord," Dolohov whispered, kissing the hems of the Dark Lord's robes.

~-0-~

Dolohov felt that he was extremely lucky to have gotten out of that confrontation with the Dark Lord unscathed, especially when he hadn't even been Cruciated. He was grateful, and it showed just how much the Dark Lord trusted him.

It also showed him how absolutely foolish he had been for believing for one second that the Dark Lord would enslave himself to a Mudblood. The appearance of the Mudblood shouldn't have shaken his resolve at all. Thankfully, the Dark Lord had opened his eyes, freeing him from that kind of absurdity. Therefore, he was able to watch from the sidelines now, watch as the other Death Eaters make up ridiculous stories, and wait for the day when they would be punished.

He was overlooking the captured Order members when the dungeon door opened behind him. He turned his head slightly and found young Malfoy sauntering in, just as proud and disgustingly haughty as his father.

"What are you doing here?" Dolohov asked.

Draco glanced towards him, fear lingering in the back of his grey eyes. It made Dolohov smirk. At least the lad was smart enough to be frightened of him.

"I start my shifts today, watching over the prisoners," Draco answered.

Dolohov cackled. "Can you handle it, boy?"

Draco looked distinctly disturbed but was, unfortunately, saved from answering when the dungeon door opened again, this time revealing Bellatrix Lestrange. Dolohov raised his eyebrows when he saw the livid expression on her face, but he soon knew why.

"My Lord," Dolohov murmured as he and Draco knelt down on the floor in front of the Dark Lord who'd entered the dungeon with the Mudblood right after Bellatrix.

After permitting them to stand, the Dark Lord sat down in one of the chairs inside the dungeon while Dolohov shared a glance with Granger. The fond memory of cursing her years ago came to Dolohov's mind, causing a sneer to appear on his face. Apparently, the Mudblood hadn't forgotten their "lovely" meeting either, judging by the way her gaze hardened upon meeting with his.

Dolohov had no idea if the Dark Lord noticed the interaction, but if he did, he didn't show it. He cast a look at the Mudblood, signaling her to sit down. By the look on the Mudblood's face, Dolohov almost expected her to defy the Dark Lord. However, much to his surprise, she took her place next to the Dark Lord's chair on the floor.

"Begin, Bella," the Dark Lord commanded in that signature soft voice of his.

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix said.

Dolohov had never seen a person's expression change so fast. The look of adoration turned into one of jealous rage when Bellatrix's eyes slid over to the Mudblood. A bloodthirsty look appeared on her face before she turned around and faced the prisoners.

The Mudblood, on the other hand, had a frown on her face. Desperation dripped from her stance, and she was looking at the Dark Lord with pleading eyes. The Dark Lord, naturally, ignored her.

"Who should I begin with?" Bellatrix asked with a childlike voice.

She pointed her wand at each of the prisoners in turn, having fun at their expense.

"This one?" she asked as if asking for permission from the Order members. "Or this one?"

"Just kill us and get it over and done with," the short, blonde witch said.

Both Dolohov and Bellatrix laughed at her words.

"Aw, did you think that we'll let you just die? No, no, no, that's the easy way out, isn't it?" Bellatrix asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Gryffindors and their warped sense of bravery," Dolohov said, spitting on the floor next to him.

"Oh, no, Dolohov, this one," Bellatrix said, her hand shooting out and grabbing the female's chin, "this one here's a Hufflepuff. We were classmates, weren't we, Diane?"

The witch didn't answer. Instead, she merely glared at Bellatrix.

"Aw, poor little Diane Eldridge doesn't want to answer me, Dolohov," Bellatrix pouted.

Suddenly, Eldridge spat at Bellatrix. A defiantly victorious smile appeared on Eldridge's face. However, her victory was short-lived. Slowly, Bellatrix raised her hand and wiped away the spittle on her face.

" _Crucio_ ," she whispered the curse, almost reverently.

The scream that was emitted from Eldridge was devastating, as if the floor had just opened up and the tortured souls from Hades themselves were screaming.

And Dolohov relished in it. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the beautiful sound of pain reach his ears and wash over his soul. This was heaven.

"You bitch!" one of the other prisoners, a medium-sized young man, screamed.

Dolohov opened his eyes, laughing. "Don't worry, lad, she'll be done with this one soon and perhaps you'll be next."

The man who'd talked glowered at Dolohov, his eyes nearly bulging out from the anger.

"Granger," the Dark Lord suddenly hissed.

Dolohov's head snapped around quickly but was only in time to see the Mudblood settle into her place. Pain caused by the view in front of her reflected off her eyes. Dolohov grinned and wasn't overly surprised to find a faint smirk on the Dark Lord's face, too.

Bellatrix, however, hadn't noticed the small interruption, perhaps distracted by Eldridge's screams.

The Dark Lord leaned forward and whispered something to the Mudblood. The girl's face immediately turned pale, and she bit down on her lower lip and seemed to be struggling internally. A wicked glint passed through the Dark Lord's eyes as he placed a kiss on Granger's forehead.

A mixture of disgust and disbelief appeared on the prisoners' faces.

The loudmouth who'd spoken before laughed bitterly. "And to think that people who went over to the dark side would've, you know, made an announcement so that others wouldn't bother trying to save her."

"I …" the Mudblood whispered.

The Dark Lord watched the interaction coldly, as if he were waiting for Granger to make the wrong move.

Perhaps he  _ **was**_  waiting for Granger to make the wrong move.

Unfortunately, the Mudblood fell silent. However, her hands were clenched into fists on her laps, and she was biting so hard down on her lower lip that Dolohov wondered why she hadn't drawn blood yet.

Bellatrix turned her wand another fraction, and Eldridge's screams promptly became a few octaves higher.

From the corner of his eye, Dolohov caught sight of Draco Malfoy turning his head away at the sight.

"Too squeamish for a bit to torture, boy?" Dolohov taunted.

The Dark Lord turned his head towards Draco, who opened his eyes and resolutely looked back at Eldridge.

"No," he answered, though his face was several shades paler than usual.

Dolohov cackled, enjoying how the situation was unfolding around him. Thank Merlin today was his shift, or else he would've missed out on all the fun. Unfortunately, he wasn't the one dishing out the tortures.

"Bella," the Dark Lord suddenly spoke up.

It never stopped to amaze Dolohov how quickly Bellatrix reacted to the Dark Lord's words. She immediately stopped what she was doing and turned around to gaze at him, reverence hardly disguised.

"As entertaining as watching you perform different curses is, let's remember that this is supposed to be a questioning session."

"Yes, my Lord," Bellatrix murmured, casting a cautious look at the Dark Lord.

Upon seeing that the Dark Lord wasn't angry, Bellatrix visibly relaxed. She turned towards Eldridge again and cocked her head to one side.

"Ready to speak yet, Eldridge?" Bellatrix asked.

"Keep dreaming, bitch," Eldridge said through gritted teeth.

Bellatrix grinned. "Why dream when I can simply torture you into insanity,  _ **Mudblood**_?"

Dolohov raised his eyebrows, now understanding that Eldridge was simply a substitution for the Mudblood that Bellatrix couldn't touch.

The Dark Lord appeared amused by Bellatrix's words. With a tug of his hand, he pulled Granger closer to him and started running his hands through her hair. Like a chain reaction, the curses that Bellatrix used progressively turned darker and crueler, until Eldridge hardly resembled a human being after a while.

Blood was splattered all over the floor and onto Bellatrix's person, but she didn't seem to mind it in the least. Eldridge's once sleek blonde hair was left in patches, and her nose was distinctly crooked to one side, having been broken several times within the last hour. However, she still refused to talk.

"Eldridge!" the loudmouth yelled before whipping his head towards Granger. He looked at her furiously though he addressed the redhead next to him. "We never should've come here."

Granger's face visibly paled, and her eyes were unfocused. She seemed so lost, and if Dolohov were a kind soul, he would've felt bad for her. As it was, he laughed, both at her and the delusional prisoners.

The redhead quietly shook her head before saying, "There—there might be a story behind it that we don't know, Wassell …"

Wassell snapped his head over to her. "What other evidence do we need, Stroud? Look at her sitting there …" He trailed off, not exactly daring to look at the person on who was right next to Granger.

Stroud shook her head again and remained silent. She cast a look towards Eldridge before lowering her head again and tears fell down her face upon seeing the damage that had been inflicted on one of her comrades.

"To think that she had been one of Potter's friends. With friends like this, who needs enemies?" Wassell muttered none too quietly. He spat out, "Probably just there for Potter's fame … I can't believe McGonagall actually trusted her."

The Dark Lord's eyes glinted. "Yes, Hermione. Minnie trusted you. How awful of you to let her down."

Granger grounded her teeth, both sorrow and self-hatred brewing behind those stubborn eyes.

"Perhaps I should let you leave," the Dark Lord mused out loud.

The Mudblood's eyes snapped towards his face, disbelief written all over her face.

The Dark Lord slowly turned his head to meet her gaze and asked in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Would you like to go back to Minnie, Hermione?"

Upon hearing his words, Granger jerked back as if she'd been whipped.

"It would be such a joyous day, wouldn't it? You'll be able to tell yourself that you've redeemed yourself. You wouldn't have to worry about betraying Potter when you are staying by his archenemy's side," the Dark Lord said, his lips curved upwards into a cruel smirk. "And maybe you can even scheme with Minerva McGonagall on how to kill Lord Voldemort. Wouldn't you like that, Hermione?"

Granger closed her eyes as her face turned another shade paler. The Dark Lord grabbed her chin and pulled her forward.

"Open your eyes, Mudblood. Look at me when I'm speaking to you," he spat out.

"Stop it," she whispered. "Please, stop it."

"Stop what, Hermione? You might want to be a bit more specific or else I might get the wrong idea," he said, a hint of mockery entering his voice.

Granger opened her eyes and stared at him but remained silent. The stubbornness on her face was more pronounced than ever. Instead of getting angered, the Dark Lord smiled.

"Have it your way then. I shall interpret your words the way  _ **I**_  want to," he said.

Swirling out of his chair, he walked forward.

"Stand to the side, Bella," he commanded.

Bellatrix looked at the Dark Lord before stepping to the side. She cackled madly as she sent a gleeful look towards Granger, who now looked on with horror in her eyes.

"No!" the Mudblood shouted.

She looked as if she'd wanted to stand up, but her arms were awkwardly held back, and Dolohov realized that the Dark Lord had probably immobilized her lower body.

Wassell and the redhead shrank back, almost as if they wished to disappear into the wall behind them. Rightly so, Dolohov believed. Though they had the courage to go up against him, they would be fools if they weren't afraid when in close proximity with the Dark Lord. Eldridge didn't budge, and from Dolohov's point of view, she looked nearly too delirious to do anything, let alone move.

The Dark Lord paid Granger no heed; instead, he seemed to have his attention on the prisoners.

"No more words?" the Dark Lord asked, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought the Order members would be so much braver than the usual riffraffs that are attempting to overthrow me."

He ran a finger down his yew wand, as if he were trying to decide just which spell to use on the prisoners, while the Mudblood opened her mouth in the background.

"Please, just let them go. They're useless to you," she said.

However, the Dark Lord chose to ignore her. "Then again, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised about your lack of courage, judging by the last time I've met with you. Isn't that correct, Benton Wassell?"

Wassell swallowed hard, the sweat on his neck reflecting off the light when his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"If you've captured him once, then you know that you're getting the same information from him. It's pointless keeping them locked up in here," Granger said.

"Au contraire, my dear," the Dark Lord said, finally turning around and looking at the Mudblood in the eyes with a faint smirk on his face. "There are plenty of reasons to keep them here." He paused before a sickeningly sweet smile appeared on his face. "And do you want to know what the reasons are?"

Some form of realization must had dawned on the Mudblood, since horror was present in her eyes now, and she shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

"Yes, Hermione, the answer is yes. I'd thought that you were passionate when it comes down to learning new things, so you should've known that the correct answer to my question should've been 'yes'," the Dark Lord said.

"No, stop it, please," she pleaded yet again.

The Dark Lord tapped a finger on his temple. "You know, that time when the Longbottoms were Cruciated into insanity, I was unfortunately … indisposed." He turned around, hardly missing the fact that Granger was now shaking. "Which one of our test subjects shall we use this time, Hermione?"

The Mudblood remained silent, though it looked like she was having a hard time trying to control her temper.

" _ **Brave**_  Benton Wassell? Or perhaps—" He turned his head towards the redhead. "—lovely Elsbeth Stroud? Or I suppose poor Diane Eldridge might work. She's so close to death that it might not make much of a difference." He turned around slowly and glanced at the Mudblood. "Which one should it be, Hermione?"

She stared right back at him, the defiance quite clearly shown on her face.

The Dark Lord probably expected this, since his eyes gleamed, much like a predator in the dark, waiting to pounce on its prey. "We don't have all day, Hermione. Unless you mean all three of them." He paused here for a short second. "I suppose it would work. After all, perseverance varies from person to person, doesn't it?"

He turned towards the prisoners and flicked his wand. Elsbeth Stroud fell to the floor, but before she could get up, the Cruciatus was cast on her. Like a spider licked by a flame, she twisted and turned, her limbs bent at irregular angles, as she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Then, things happened too quickly for Dolohov to immediately realize what had happened. Granger was suddenly on her feet while the Dark Lord's wand flew across the air into her outstretched hand.

Before any of the Death Eaters could curse the Mudblood for her impertinence, Elsbeth Stroud had gotten to her feet and charged at the Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : Many thanks to my beta, Nerys. Huge thanks to those of you who've read, given kudos, and commented!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Nerys, and many thanks to those of you who'd given kudos!

**Chapter 11**

" _I want you to be there when I speak to your …_ friends _from the Order."_

She stared at him for a while before she answered, "No."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, displeasure rolling off him in waves. "What makes you think you have a choice?"

"I know what you're trying to do," she said quietly, in contrast to her tumultuous eyes. "I might not have a choice, but I'm not going to go there willingly, knowing that you'll purposely torture them before my eyes and leaving me with a dilemma of helping them or just stand there pretending that I'm on the neutral side."

He laughed coldly. "Is that so? Haven't you've said quote, 'I've already made my choice' end quote?"

She closed her eyes briefly, struggling internally before she looked at him again. "I did make my choice, and I'm suffering the consequences right now because I have to choose between the person that I've chosen to be with and the side that logic tells me I should be loyal to."

He was in front of her in a flash. Grabbing her chin so tightly that she nearly winced from the pain, he tilted her face upwards until he was staring directly into her eyes. The anger on his face was consuming, and she almost thought that she could feel the licks of rage lashing against her skin. Then, it suddenly disappeared, replaced by an almost kind smile. Her eyes flickered towards his, only to find them still as cold and cruel as usual, a sharp contrast to his almost loving expression. A shiver involuntarily ran down her spine; a look like that on his face could not possibly mean something pleasant.

"Are you suffering, Hermione?" he asked, his voice like warm liquid.

It would have been so easy to be lulled into a false sense of security when he spoke to someone like that, but she knew; after so many years of living with him, she just  _ **knew**_. Therefore, she kept her mouth shut, waiting for him to continue.

"Tsk," he clicked his tongue exaggeratedly. "And here I was, thinking that I was allowing you, a Mudblood, enough comfort. After all, not every Muggle-born witch or wizard is getting such a nice treatment from their masters … as you've already witnessed."

A hint of sarcasm touched his smile, but it was quickly hidden again. Hermione nearly cringed, remembering how her fellow classmates were suffering, but she managed to hold it back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Then again, I suppose that I was too … inconsiderate," he mused. "I've never seen the point of having people close. Perhaps it's the lack of friends around you?" He moved his face until his lips were nearly touching her ears. "Or perhaps the lack of …  _ **relatives**_?"

She got a sinking feeling in her stomach as her mind processed his words. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't be implying what she was thinking …

"No …" she whispered as he moved his head backwards so that he could see her face in full again.

"Yessss, Hermione. Had you forgotten about your parents?" Voldemort asked, the smile on his face widening and his eyes glinting ominously. "Poor Hugo and Jean Granger … or maybe I should call them … Wendell and Monica Wilkins?"

Fear seized her heart, and uncontrollably, her body started to shake.

Her parents' safety had never been at the top of her list of concerns when she'd first gotten caught, since she had known that they had moved to Australia and the Death Eaters didn't really have a reason to go after them after Harry had died. After she'd been forced to stay by Voldemort's side, she made it a point to not think about them because she didn't want to let him have something else to hold over her head. In addition to the fact that he had never officially used Legilimency on her to access deeper memories, she'd thought that her parents were completely out of harm's way.

Until now.

"Stay away from them," she said as calmly as she could while she struggled to stop herself from shaking.

He tilted his head to one side, curious. "No 'I don't know what you're talking about'?"

"Do I look like a fool to you?" she asked, irritated.

"Difficult question to answer, Granger, judging from your unintelligent choices and decisions." The harshness in his eyes was a big contrast from the pleasant expression he had on his face. He paused for a second. "You are to follow me to the dungeons. You are not to curse my Death Eaters, regardless of what happens down there. Any pranks down there, and I promise that you'll be seeing your parents sooner than you think. Am I understood?"

Hermione gritted her teeth, the urge to protest or rebel strong. However, the vision of her parents being killed or tortured kept popping up in her mind's eye. She had no choice. However …

"How do I know if you haven't already captured them?" The suspicion in her was high; no one could possibly blame her for being paranoid.

"They are currently still living happily in Australia," he answered offhandedly. "I suppose it was careless of me. Perhaps you would be more willing to cooperate if you see them standing in front of you?"

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shook her head. "I won't curse your Death Eaters, regardless of what happens in the dungeons," she answered quickly.

If he did have them in captivity, seeing them would force her to submit to him more quickly than just threatening her with their safety. This was something that both of them knew, and Hermione could only hope that he hadn't already had them killed.

She didn't know  _ **what**_  she would do if they were already killed, and she didn't dare to ask him for a visit to Australia. He might see it as an opportunity to really capture them and use them as a bait to control her.

"Remember your promise, dear," he said.

With that said, he motioned for Hermione to go with him. Reluctantly, she trailed a few steps behind him. On their way to the dungeons, they encountered Bellatrix, who immediately knelt down in front of Voldemort with a reverent, whispered "My Lord."

"On your way to the dungeons, I assume, Bella?" Voldemort asked coldly after permitting her to stand.

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, her onyx eyes hardening when they landed on Hermione.

Voldemort gave a brief nod before striding forward, with both witches following closely behind him.

~-0-~

She fought against the immobilization spell as best as she could. However, he wasn't the darkest wizard in history for nothing. She didn't even know how she managed to break through the spell, but the moment she did, she pulled out her wand.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Voldemort's wand flew through the air and landed neatly in her outstretched hand. His eyes snapped towards her, but she didn't have time to wonder about the lack of anger in them; her attention was immediately caught by Elsbeth Stroud, who attempted to attack him. Without thinking, she cast a shield in front of him, preventing harm from being done to him; Stroud crashed into the ward and bounced backwards, landing on the floor.

The change of events jumpstarted the other Death Eaters in the room. Draco immediately took refuge in the corner with his wand out, waiting for any stray spells that might crash into him. A malicious grin appeared on Bellatrix's face, and with a wave of her wand, a dark-brown streak of light flew across the room towards Hermione. Dolohov whipped out his wand and threw a turquoise-colored spell of his own.

Hermione immediately jumped to the side, allowing the two spells to collide midway, while she pocketed the yew wand and tightened the grip around her own wand. The irritation in her spiked, and she threw some of the most vicious spells she knew towards them. Though she hadn't dueled for a while, she didn't follow Voldemort around for nothing.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Voldemort raise his eyebrow at a couple of her spells. However, he made no move to stop her or his Death Eaters. It thoroughly confused Hermione. Why wasn't he attacking? Why wasn't he even attempting to get back his wand?

However, her thoughts were disrupted when Bellatrix sent a malicious charcoal-colored hex towards her.

Bringing her wand to her side, she slashed her wand through the air upwards diagonally before bringing it into an arc so that it was pointing directly in front of her. With a small flick of her wand, a fuchsia-colored spell raced forward before splitting into two different streaks of light, one heading towards Dolohov and the other heading towards Bellatrix.

Dolohov and a sneering Bellatrix both conjured a Shield Charm to block the curse. However, Hermione watched with no small amount of viciousness when her hexes obliterated those wards and crashed into the two Death Eaters, both of whom she still secretly—okay, not so secretly—held grudges against.

It was one thing for Hermione to pity Bellatrix for garnering unrequited love towards Voldemort; it was another for her to forgive the days of torture she'd had to endure. With Dolohov … well, she didn't care as much for her looks, but it didn't mean that she didn't care at all. Whenever she saw that ugly scar on her body, she would remember the pain and near-death experience she'd had after that …  _ **exchange**_  at the Ministry of Magic.

And vengeance was hers.

Not bothering to wait for Bellatrix and Dolohov to get back on their feet, Hermione continued to throw curse after curse at them. Due to their unfavorable positions on the floor, they either had to roll away from the spells or conjure shields to ward them off, even with the fact that Hermione was throwing hexes in two different directions.

Sudden movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she glanced towards it just in time to see a panting Elsbeth Stroud get off the floor, glaring at Voldemort, who had his eyes on the duel in front of him, as if he didn't notice her at all. For a moment, Hermione thought about shouting out a warning. However, the moment Stroud took a step forward, Voldemort lazily flicked his wrist without looking towards her, and Stroud immediately crashed onto the floor and remained still.

Hermione's spell-casting faltered when she witnessed this scene, which allowed Bellatrix and Dolohov to get back on their feet again. Therefore, most of Hermione's concentration was immediately pulled back to them.

However, that didn't stop her from thinking.

_It was all a test—he was never defenseless, even when I conjured that Shield Charm for him—he was never in danger—_

Those thoughts kept running through her head. On top of everything that had happened that day, without warning, an unprecedented, blinding rage rushed through her, fueling her curses and the speed with which she was throwing them.

Beads of sweat on the two Death Eaters' faces glistened as they maneuvered their bodies, either to move out of the way of harmful spells or to cast a curse of their own. The jeers on Bellatrix's face disappeared, leaving behind cold hatred and full concentration. Dolohov's jaws were set, though a tinge of disbelief lingered in his eyes.

Several stray hexes bombarded into the walls instead of their intended targets; dust mingled with the streaks of different colors of light, causing visibility in the prison to decrease dramatically. Occasionally, squeaks of fear could be heard from the far corner where Draco had found cover in.

Suddenly, the prison door flew open. The crash caught Hermione's attention, and she immediately drew up a Shield Charm, just in case it were other Death Eaters coming to help Bellatrix and Dolohov. However, they weren't Death Eaters.

"Minerva, both of them are here!" one of the Order members who'd barged into the dungeon shouted behind his shoulder, a strange mixture of fear and relief in his voice.

Seconds later, Minerva McGonagall appeared at the door with her wand at the ready. When her eyes alighted on Hermione, a small smile appeared on her face. But before she could get near enough to Hermione to talk to her, Death Eaters Apparated into the prison cell.

Chaos ensued. Streaks of different colors crashed into the ceiling, the walls, and sometimes onto someone's body. As the seconds ticked by, more and more Death Eaters and Order members joined the fight, either by entering the door or Apparating into the prison cell. The Anti-Apparition wards were probably down, but the Order members showed no signs of leaving; they seemed determined to save those who had been captured.

With so many people in between her and her targets, Hermione lowered her wand and narrowed her eyes at Voldemort, who was standing casually on the side, watching with mild interest as if he weren't standing in the middle of an ongoing battle. Spells that rushed his way were either batted away with his hand or casually sidestepped. As if he noticed that she was watching him, his eyes flickered towards her. A small smirk appeared on his face, and all of a sudden, her previous rage crashed back onto her, twice in intensity.

"Is this another one of your idiotic tests?" she shouted across the room, her fingers gripping onto the handle of her wand with more force than necessary.

The smirk on his face grew, and he raised an eyebrow at her, seemingly finding something  _ **funny**_. The nerve of this man!

She resisted the urge to stomp over and tear out his newly regained hair and continued, "Enough is enough! If you don't trust someone, it doesn't matter how many 'tests' you put them through! You still won't believe them when the truth is dancing naked in front of your eyes! I'm not one of your little experiments! I don't  _ **want**_  to be one of your stupid experiments! If you want to test how far you can push someone before you reach their limits, you can find some other plaything! I've had enough of  _ **this**_  and everything related to it!"

With that said, she spun on the spot. The last thing she saw before she Disapparated was the look of genuine shock imprinted on Voldemort's face.

And that was when she remembered she still had his wand.

~-0-~

Now that she'd … confiscated (for a lack of a better word) Voldemort's wand, it was all or nothing. She didn't want to think what would happen if Voldemort captured her again; she could only think about what she should do now, at the present moment.

With a crack, Hermione Apparated into the Ministry of Magic. The personnel there looked in her direction in alarm before they calmed down and returned to their work. At first, it surprised Hermione, but then she remembered that she had been here with Voldemort before; it was more than likely that they'd thought that she was here with their Lord and master.

Well, they were in for a nasty surprise.

As quickly as she could without running, she went to the staircase. The elevator was much too slow and she only needed to go two floors up. She knew that using International Apparition required time for the wards to be taken down—time that she didn't have, given that Voldemort could arrive any minute. The International Floo Network was the fastest and easiest way out of the country.

She felt that she was already extremely lucky that the Death Eaters in the Ministry hadn't been informed that she was on the run yet. Perhaps Voldemort was arrogant enough to believe that they would stop her when she arrived here unaccompanied? Or maybe the Death Eaters were still busy with the Order members?

Though she felt a small twinge of guilt towards the Order, she brushed it aside. She wanted out. She didn't want anything to do with this war between the Light and the Dark any longer, not when she didn't want to— _ **couldn't**_ —choose a side.

By the time she reached Level Six, however, it appeared that her streak of good luck had come to an end.

The moment she threw open the door, the witch closest to her let out a gasp while the other witches and wizards in the room rose to their feet, pulling out their wands. Nonetheless, Hermione was one step ahead of them. After hexing them and blocking the entrances to the office with wards, she ran into the office for the Floo Regulation Panel. The wards might not hold for long, but she hoped that it would buy her enough time.

" _Accio_ Floo Network records for Australia," she cast, praying hard that it would work.

Thankfully, a huge tome immediately flew towards her and landed in her hand. Her hand mildly shook as she waved her wand, using a handly little spell that would immediately take her to the page with the word, the name of the city, she was looking for.

Her heart thudded painfully against her chest, and she nearly broke down when the first and second names didn't give her any results. She let out a huge breath and felt somewhat relieved when the third name finally made the pages turn. Her heart leapt with joy when an address, a name was presented to her.

Tightening the hold on her wand, she raced towards the fireplaces. The Ministry officials were still unconscious, which probably meant that the other Death Eaters had not received news about where she was.

That thought was completely and utterly obliterated when she felt the magic in the air shift, nearly causing her to swoon on the spot.

_Shit._

_**He**_  was here, though she had no idea which floor.

She held her breath as she frantically grabbed some Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Stepping into the fire, she called out the name.

Even as she was zooming away from the Ministry, she did not see Voldemort, but it was only when she had safely arrived at her destination did relief finally settle over her.

She was free.

~-0-~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Nerys for beta-ing and to those of you who've read and given kudos!

**Chapter 12**

_Five years later._

It was nearing Chinese New Year. Chinese characters cut out from red paper and scarlet lanterns were being hung in many stores, and the streets of Hong Kong were more crowded than they usually were.

Hermione Granger walked through the market and inwardly sighed when she saw the amount of people that were milling around the place. However, she knew that the market would be closed for the next couple of days.

Pulling out her shopping list, she went to each and every stand to purchase the items she needed. The lady at the vegetables stand recognized her and added an extra piece of ginger into the bag before handing it to Hermione. The fish merchant managed to hold his expression in check when she asked for crabs; Hermione mentally cringed when she realized that she'd misspoken the word again, though she managed to keep a straight face. After three years of living in Hong Kong, her Cantonese wasn't as horrible as when she'd first arrived—okay, it probably still was the butt of the joke for many of the local residents, but she liked to think that she'd gotten better at it. Nonetheless, the intonations were still a nightmare for her.

People swarmed around her, some stopping to greet familiar faces with good luck and abundance in wealth for the new year. After picking up some fruits, she pulled her shawl a bit closer and searched for the exit which was made harder than usual by the crowd.

She exhaled deeply when the cold late winter wind blew against her face. Though it was still noisy outside, at least it wasn't as difficult to maneuver on the streets. She quickly walked forward, placing the purchases into her bag separately at different intersections, so that people would not wonder how it was possible for all of it to fit. When she stopped at a newspaper stand that sold both Muggle and wizard magazines, a Muggle was just perusing his options, his eyes slipping over the wizard papers as if he couldn't see them—Hermione wouldn't be surprised if there were some form of magic in place.

As the Muggle chatted with the stand keeper, Hermione placed the correct amount of money on small chair before picking up the wizard newspapers. The stand keeper paid her no extra attention, though he gave a short nod, collected the money, and stuffed it into his waist bag.

Inclining her head in thanks, Hermione continued home. Only when she'd stepped through the wards she'd placed on the apartment did she allowed her Charmed features to melt into her original looks.

For some reason (and Hermione had a few good theories of what that reason could be), Voldemort had not placed her name and picture amongst the Undesirables. Therefore, not many wizarding folks would give her a second look. However, the relationship between the Chinese Ministry of Magic and the one under Voldemort's regime seemed to be shaky right now, so she did not want to step into whatever was brewing in between the two sides.

"I'm home," Hermione announced.

"We're in the kitchen!" came the reply.

A soft smile appeared on Hermione's face as she headed towards where the voices were coming from, which grew when she saw her parents laughing lightly at some joke that was unknown to her.

She had no idea if Voldemort knew where she'd gone, but she had been more than thankful to discover that her parents were still safe and sound. After finding them, she'd first Stunned them and Apparated them away from the nice, cozy home they had been living in before she attempted to return their memories to them. She didn't want Lord Voldemort arriving in the middle of the complicated spell she needed to perform on them.

Of course, she'd tested every possible spell on them to make sure they weren't imposters; she'd even waited for the full hour to be certain that they weren't Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potions.

It was a relief, a relief that nearly brought tears to her eyes, when she realized that they were really her parents and when a spark of recognition entered their eyes. For the first time in seven years, Hermione felt some kind of pressure lifted from her shoulders.

But that didn't mean that she didn't wake up at night.

She didn't even remember when it started, but at night, she dreamt of times when she was still at Hogwarts, chatting animatedly with Harry and Ron before the situation always evolved into the same scenario:

"Why have you betrayed us?" Ron would ask before blood started seeping out of their eyes—their noses—their mouths—their ears—their flesh rotting away until nothing was left except bones—

No, she wasn't frightened about their looks, but the pain and accusation in their voices devastated her, and she would end up in tears, begging for their forgiveness. She didn't even know how to explain herself.

And she would cry even harder when Harry and Ginny, sweet, sweet Ginny, would put their arms around her, understanding. It made the guilt weigh even harder on her heart, so much that she thought it would burst.

Then, she would wake up, her pillow wet and her body shaking.

It became a sick routine, and she was glad that she didn't scream or cry too loudly that it would alert her parents.

She wondered why she'd never had these dreams while she was with Voldemort. Perhaps there had been too many things happening at the time, or perhaps she hadn't had the time to self-reflect back then. Maybe it was the guilt finally settling in. However, she did know that the dreams were the manifestation of her remorse. A part of her didn't want the nightmares to go away; it was the only way she could apologize to her dearest friends for falling in love with the enemy.

She was extremely glad that her parents hadn't asked what had happened in the last seven years, though there was a couple of times she could've sworn she saw hesitant looks on their faces. They were confused in regards to why she would alter their looks before allowing them out the house, and after a while, they asked.

"The war against the dark wizards … I've been active in it and I'm afraid that they'll recognize you," she'd explained with difficulty.

Some sort of realization had dawned on Jean Granger's face, and she'd stopped Hugo from asking further. From that day on, they never questioned her instructions.

"It's quite busy out there, isn't it?" Jean commented as she battled the crabs that Hermione had brought back.

"Yeah, it's a riot," Hermione said with a small grin. "I had to battle this lady for the last soy sauce chicken."

Her mother laughed at the confession. "Well, let's hope she finds one somewhere else. We wouldn't want her cursing you at the start of their new year, do we?"

The smile on Hermione's face grew just a bit wider. "No, we don't. I'm sure she'll find a nice fat chicken somewhere else."

That night, after a nice dinner filled with quiet chuckles and casual conversation, Hermione decided to go to bed early.

That night, her dream changed.

She wasn't at Hogwarts. She was somewhere, so familiar, yet so different. Perhaps it was Hogwarts, but she when she ran around the corner, she wondered if she was somehow at Malfoy Manor.

But no, she was running through a forest. The Forbidden Forest? Or was it the Forest of Dean? She couldn't tell.

The trees cleared. She was racing through a field, and then, a body, another corpse, and the numbers grew and grew and grew. Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, Professor McGonagall, Kingsley, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Susan, Hannah—faces she knew among faces she didn't. People who had suffered or died while she lived in peace and stability.

She couldn't breathe, but somehow she kept on running; she couldn't stop herself even while tears fell yet once again.

Her footsteps came to a halting stop when she saw a figure standing amidst the dead. She stared, horrified, as the figure with a head full of bushy hair slowly turned around. The horror-stricken expression was mimicked on her face as well as the tears.

"Why am I still alive?"

~-0-~

Hermione woke up with a start, tears streaming down her face once again. This time, however, she felt someone, a gentle hand brushing the hair away from her face. She turned around and found Jean gazing at her, a look of love, heartache, and sympathy on her face.

"Mum," Hermione murmured as she struggled to sit up. "Sorry—did I wake you up?"

"Shh," Jean hushed, running her hand through Hermione's hair and gently combing through the knots. "No, sweetie. Your dad's still asleep." She looked at Hermione hesitantly before she continued, "I know you haven't been sleeping well."

Hermione stared at her mother, not knowing what to say. She wanted to deny that fact, but perhaps she was too tired of running or maybe she was still devastated from the newest dreams. Words that might put Jean at ease wouldn't leave her mouth, and she remained silent.

"Sweetie, you're a strong, independent girl ever since you were a child, and I'm proud of you. I really am. But sometimes … sometimes, it doesn't hurt to let others help you in carrying the burden," Jean said. "I know there are things in your world that your dad and I don't understand, and I know your dad and I are often busy at the office, but you're my daughter. I know when something's wrong with you. I just didn't know how to talk to you about it because I know you weren't ready to talk about it."

Hermione's lower lip trembled, and again, she thought about lying to her mother, but each fib became weaker than the last in her mind.

"I see how on edge you were when you've first recovered our memories," Jean continued gently. "It was as if you were expecting to be attacked any second. Even before you've made us forget about you, I've never seen you so frightened, as if you were certain something dangerous would happen, and I never hear you talk about Harry or Ron anymore."

Pain flashed over Hermione's face at the mention of her best friends, and when Jean saw that, she sighed. Reaching out with her hand, she cupped Hermione's cheek comfortingly.

Jean added, "I might not understand how your world works, but I might be able to offer you some insight if you're willing to talk to me."

A short silence followed.

"I … I don't know where to begin," Hermione finally admitted in a small voice.

"Take your time," Jean encouraged, holding her hand.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, not very certain of what to say, and the first words she managed to utter surprised her as well. "Harry and Ron are dead."

Jean froze in her actions for a split second. "What?"

Hermione nodded, sniffling as she fought back tears that threatened to well up again. "Seven years ago."

"How?" Jean whispered, horror etched on her face.

Hermione shook her head, and the words came out scattered, incoherent. "Seven years ago … the war started the year before … and …"

"War?" Jean seemed downright alarmed right now.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Mum. I … I just couldn't tell you at that time.  _ **He**_  had it in for Harry, and Harry … I … Mum, I couldn't let him do it alone. I just couldn't. If I hadn't gone with him, he would've … but he still died. Oh Merlin, Harry still  _ **died**_ , and I don't even know why he'd lost. Was it because of something I missed? Was it because I didn't do enough? I just … I don't know anymore. I just feel like I'm absolutely rubbish and I should've died with him that day," she sobbed.

"Oh, honey, don't say that," Jean comforted, embracing Hermione. "You are  _ **not**_  rubbish, and Harry would've wanted you to survive."

Hermione shook her head as she buried her head into her mother's shoulder. She knew that Harry was forgiving, but would he actually forgive her for falling in love with Voldemort?

Yes. Yes, he would, and that was why she felt even more guilty.

"Who … who was it who'd wanted … who'd killed Harry?" Jean asked cautiously.

_Lord Voldemort._

The words hitched in Hermione's throat, and she clung onto Jean in silence.

"Is it that dark wizard you were afraid of catching us?" Jean inquired.

Hermione exhaled the breath she didn't know she had been holding and nodded, glad that she didn't have to answer the question out loud.

Jean held on to her, patting her on the shoulder and back while muttering meaningless, comforting words.

"Sweetie?" Jean pulled away and looked at Hermione in the eye. "I know you're suffering from their deaths, and I don't know what happened for the last seven years, but if I know anything, it's that Harry, Ron, and the Weasleys would want you to live happily. I've seen how much they've cared about you."

"Mum … I …" Hermione said softly as tears fell again and she shook her head. "You don't know what happened—"

"I don't," Jean admitted. "But I  _ **know**_  my daughter, and my daughter is not a person who would hurt her friends intentionally."

"Mum …" Hermione blubbered. "I …" She closed her eyes and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek before she finally blurted it out. "I fell in love with him."

Jean stilled, staring at Hermione for what seemed like forever before she asked, "The dark wizard?"

With much difficulty, Hermione nodded.

Jean remained silent for a while, and then, she sighed deeply. "Sweetie, it's not a crime to fall in love with someone."

"But I  _ **knew**_  who he is, Mum. I knew what he had done and what he will do, but I … How could I have fallen in love with someone like him? Mum, is there something wrong with me?"

"Now you're just being silly," Jean chided gently as she brushed away the tears. "We're humans. We're not gods or goddesses, dear. We can't choose who we fall in love with."

"But I should've fought it …"

"Nonsense. Do you think that love is an entrée that we order in a restaurant? We don't like it so please refund it or change it? Life doesn't work like that, sweetie.  _ **Love**_  doesn't work like that," Jean told her. "Love is unpredictable and often hits us as the strangest moments."

Hermione quieted down, not knowing how to answer.

"You're blaming yourself for too many things, Hermione. Should you be sad that Harry and Ron died? Yes. But you shouldn't go as far as to blame yourself. You've done everything you could to prevent it, but sometimes, life doesn't work out the way we want it to," Jean said. "Should you stop loving a person who is not a very good man? It's not something you can control. As long as you keep a clear head and know what you are doing, I don't think you should let it cripple you and make you feel miserable."

The two of them remained silent, and Hermione mulled over her mother's words. After a while, she exhaled deeply.

Giving her mother a soft smile, she said, "Thanks, Mum."

Jean shook her head. "I just want you to be happy, sweetie. Please stop pressuring yourself so much."

"I'll try," Hermione replied, attempting to sound brave but failing miserably in her own honest opinion.

"I know you can do it," Jean whispered as she pulled Hermione into her embrace. "My little girl always achieves what she sets out to do."

And Hermione sincerely hoped that her mother was correct.

~-0-~

The fireworks display over Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong on the second day of the Chinese New Year had always been spectacular. Though Hermione and her parents had witnessed it on television for the past two years, they'd felt comfortable enough in the city to see it live this year.

Despite the crowdedness she found herself in made Hermione a bit disgruntled, the cheerful expressions on Hugo and Jean's faces made it worth it.

That was until she saw a familiar figure from the corner of her eye.

For a moment, her breath caught in her throat and her fingers wrapped themselves around her wand before she recalled that her features were—should be—still Charmed.

Not to mention the person in question wasn't even looking her way.

In all his blond, posh glory, Lucius Malfoy stood a few feet away from the crowd.

Though she was almost certain that he couldn't possibly know who she was, his presence worried her. Was he here on some kind of mission? Or was he here on vacation? He didn't seem like the kind of person who would stand there to watch fireworks.

"Mum, Dad. Stay here and don't follow me. I'll be right back," Hermione told them.

"What's the matter?" Hugo immediately asked.

Hermione shook her head. "It'll be quick, but go home immediately if I haven't returned yet after the fireworks display."

Not wanting to explain more, she casually stepped backwards and maneuvered around, until she was at the outer ring of the crowds. Nonetheless, she was still too far to hear what he was saying to the person with East Asian features standing next to him.

How she wished for a pair of the twins' Extendable Ears!

Suddenly, an idea came to her, and as casually as she could, she asked the person in broken Cantonese, "Excuse me, do you know where the nearest restroom is?"

After receiving directions, she quickly moved away from the crowd. When she was far away enough, she checked her surroundings before casting a Disillusionment Charm on herself.

Carefully, she maneuvered towards the two people standing some distance away from the crowd and almost cheered at her success in remaining undetected as she stopped right behind them within hearing distance.

"— _ **not**_  pleased. I've told you this already, Yue-xuan, and I'm under the impression that Rabastan had made it clear," Lucius said, his voice as condescending as always, as he shot the witch standing next to him a meaningful look.

"Our Prime Minister is, of course, not going to assist them. Rest assured, we are neutral in regards to what happens in Britain," the witch—Yue-xuan—replied.

"How … frustrating," Lucius scoffed. "I seem to recall that Prime Minister Lee had signed a treaty with us. 'Comrades in battle' was the precise wording. I can overlook the fact that the relationship between your Ministry and the Greek Ministry of Magic is  _ **friendly**_ , for a lack of a better word, but  _ **this**_  is not something I can ignore. It's not something that  _ **the**_   _ **Dark Lord**_  will ignore."

Yue-xuan shifted in her position in discomfort before she spoke again, "I was not informed about it."

Lucius lowered his voice another notch and said, "That's not an excuse, Yue-xuan. The Dark Lord is  _ **not**_  pleased."

Yue-xuan swallowed, the nervousness on her face obvious. "Our Ministry is not interested in ruining the friendship that we've spent so much time building. Please let the Dark Lord know that I will rectify this immediately."

The plea in Yue-xuan's eyes could be clearly seen from where Hermione was standing, and of course, Lucius received the message. Suddenly, something clicked in Hermione's mind.

Yue-xuan was a Death Eater, too.

Throughout the years that Hermione had lived in Hong Kong, she'd heard people call Voldemort different names, but never once had she heard them call him the "Dark Lord". As far as she knew, only Death Eaters used that term. That would explain why Yue-xuan was also so abnormally nervous to hear that Voldemort was dissatisfied with the situation; she was worried that she'd be in line for a Cruciatus session.

"I hope to hear pleasing news soon, Yue-xuan," Lucius said with a nod of his head just as the fireworks started decorating the night skies, accompanied by the oohs and ahs by the onlookers.

They remained silent as they watched the pyrotechnic show, and Hermione was momentarily left to her thoughts.

From their brief conversation, it seemed like Voldemort had his spies in the Chinese Ministry, too, but it appeared that Yue-xuan was either not that high in ranks or they had reasons to suspect her if she was prevented from knowing certain information.

Just when Hermione thought they weren't going to talk anymore, Lucius spoke up in a much lower voice, and Hermione had to move a bit closer to hear what they were saying..

"And the witch?"

"She's walking around with Charmed looks, but she doesn't know that she's being tracked."

Hermione felt as if a bucket full of ice had just fallen on top of her. She'd thought that she had been safe. She'd thought that nobody knew who she was, yet all this time, an unknown Death Eater had been keeping tabs on her.

By now, she was certain that she wouldn't meet up with her parents soon.

_And I've told them to go home!_

Her heart raced, knowing that their home was no longer safe. Pulling out her wand silently, she cast a spell in the general direction towards her parents. It would leave a message on their cell phone, telling them to go directly to the prearranged safe-house.

Ever since she had been on the run from Voldemort and the Death Eaters, she had been worried that their location might be compromised. Therefore, she had prepared a safe-house where her parents could hide in until Hermione had dealt with the possible dangers. Though her parents had objected to the plan at the beginning, they were left with no choice since they didn't know any magic and couldn't help if someone magically attacked them, not to mention the fact that Hermione couldn't in any way fully concentrate with them in possible danger.

"Do you know where she is located?" Lucius asked.

"That's confidential, Minister Malfoy," Yue-xuan replied with a mysterious smile.

Now Hermione was really confused. Why would that be confidential? She understood that Yue-xuan was playing the part of spy and had to pretend that she was loyal to the Chinese Ministry, but they wouldn't care about Hermione's safety, would they? If anything, they could tie her up and send her to Voldemort as a "gift of good will."

Nonetheless, Hermione knew that she and her parents were in the line of danger. If Yue-xuan and her lackeys were tracking her, it would be a matter of time before Voldemort came knocking on her door—scratch that, came blasting apart her apartment.

Resisting the urge to shiver, she watched as Yue-xuan shot Lucius a meaningful glance. He gave her a nearly imperceptible nod; that made Hermione even more worried.

"As … spectacular as this show is—" Here, Lucius's lips curved into a sneer. "—I much rather watch a night sky filled with Dark Marks. I take my leave on you, Yue-xuan, and please send my regards to Prime Minister Lee."

Yue-xuan gave him a brief nod before holding out her hand. A slight smirk appeared on Lucius's face as he extended his arm and held onto her hand and gave it a shake. Hermione narrowed her eyes, pretty certain that her instinct was correct and that Yue-xuan had handed Lucius something in that handshake.

Then, Lucius turned around and walked away. If Hermione hadn't jumped out of his way just in time, he would've bumped into her. Suddenly, he stopped, and the longer he stood there, the more nervous Hermione became, worried that he might've seen something off with her Disillusionment Charm or perhaps he'd felt something when she moved out of the way.

However, without a backward glance, he continued walking.

Hermione bit her lower lip, knowing that it would be dangerous to follow him now. He was obviously suspicious that there had been someone there, but he was pretending to be nonchalant in order for the person to follow him. However, she couldn't be sure what Yue-xuan had given Lucius. What if it was the address to her apartment? She doubted her parents could stand it if she had to look after them all the time from now on. Not to mention there were two of them and only one of her; she could only look after one of her parents at a time.

After a brief debate with herself, she cast a quick look back at her parents, making sure that their Charmed features were still in place before she squared her shoulders and took after Lucius. It shouldn't take that long.

~-0-~


End file.
